


War Poetry

by Medie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Het, Background Slash, Backstory, F/M, M/M, Teen Wolf Reverse Bang, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three versions of the truth. Yours, theirs, and what really happened. Turns out, Stiles has been holding the third truth of the Hale-Argent feud his entire life...he's just never known it until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2012 Teen Wolf Reverse Big Bang for artwork produced by the amazing birddi. The piece of art in question can be found [here](http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j267/ca_me/Medie/tw_reversebigbang_birddi/apYs8_birddi.jpg) and I am ever so grateful that I got a chance to work with it. Thank you, birddi!
> 
> My thanks to the amazing Green for betaing and for the suggestion of the title. There's beauty in preparing for battle indeed!

The first time, Stiles is six and there's cake. It's one of those great days when you're a kid and everything fits. Like this year, he gets to have two birthdays because last week, on his _real_ birthday, Mommy was away on business. That day, Daddy had brought home pizza and cupcakes and it was awesome, but now Mommy's home and there's a _real_ cake. 

It's _huge_. Daddy almost dropped it twice on the way in the door and Stiles runs up to tell Mommy all about it, giggling with every step. He trips and ends up scrambling the rest of the way on his hands and knees but he doesn't care even a little. This is the best day _ever_.

Skidding on the carpet, he nearly slips and falls, but catches himself at the last minute. The bathroom door bangs open with the impact and Stiles starts to say "Mommy!" but then he sees Mommy and he can't say a thing.

She's looking at him, surprised, with her hands in bathwater that's stained a rusty red. Stiles edges closer with a much quieter, "Mommy?" 

There's clothes in the tub. Mommy's favourite white blouse is hanging over her head, dripping slowly into the water and there's a pair of jeans beside her. They're hers. Stiles remembers watching her stitch a big daisy onto the hip. He'd fallen asleep watching the needle move in and out, dragging white thread through the dark denim. 

The daisy is stained red now. So's most of the rest. The jeans are shiny and dark with something that smells weird. Like that time he broke his arm falling off his bike and he'd gotten blood on his new jeans Mommy had bought for school. 

"Mommy?" 

He sounds afraid. Stiles doesn't know why he sounds afraid, but he does. His voice is tiny , smaller than he is, and he doesn't like the way Mommy stares at him. She looks like Scott does every time Scott's mom catches them in the cookie jar. 

"Mommy, did you hurt yourself?" 

Mommy blinks, breaking the spell and she smiles. "No, honey, I didn't. I just made a little mess." She grabs up the jeans and dumps them into the water too. "But it'll be fine." 

Stiles watches as the red water gets brighter, thicker, and he feels like he wants to cry. He doesn't understand, he doesn't, but he knows something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong and it's not ever going to be right. 

"It's all right, sweetheart," Mommy says. She gets up and washes her hands in the sink, drying them carefully before she bends down to pick him up. She bounces him in her arms and leans into her. He doesn't understand any of this, but it's Mommy and Mommy makes everything okay. "I promise," she says, murmuring his name along with it. "It's just a little mess that Mommy made last night and you know what we do with messes, right?"

Stiles nods. He's afraid, but Mommy's smiling at him like the answer's really _important_. "We clean up," he says and starts singing the clean up song.

Mommy joins in and they're downstairs before Stiles can remember why he was afraid in the first place. 

*

He's not much older than that the first time Mommy's friend Alan comes over for lessons. It's not the first time Alan's been at the house. He's been visiting Mommy for tea for as long as Stiles can remember. This is just the first time that Stiles has been allowed to stay. Before, he would say hi then go upstairs and play until Mommy called him again.

Stiles hates that. 

Alan always has candy in his pockets and Mommy always pretends not to see when he slips Stiles a few. Today, though, he sits Stiles at the kitchen counter and smiles. "You're staying here today, kiddo," he says, taking a seat beside him. 

Stiles can't tell you why it is, but he knows that it's a _big. deal._ Mommy smiles at Alan, but she looks sad when she does, and she's twisting a ring around her finger when she does. 

Alan smiles back. "You knew it had to happen," he says, and it's so quiet that Stiles knows he isn't supposed to hear. 

Or, maybe, he is, because he looks at Stiles when Mommy nods and says, "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier."

Stiles doesn't understand any of it, but he slides off the stool anyway. He doesn't like having to upstairs when Alan comes over. He wants to stay down with him and Mommy. He wants to know what they talk about in their books and why, sometimes, Daddy gets mad and leaves all in a rush. 

He wants to know, but if it's going to make Mommy said then it's okay if he doesn't. 

Except Mommy's hand touches his shoulder and stops him where he is. "It's all right, sweetheart," she says, crouching down to look him in the eye. "You're growing up. Mommies always have a hard time with that." 

She smiles then and lifts him back up into the chair. "Perhaps we should start with the ash?" 

*

"I was your age when I started this too," Mommy says, one day when they're preparing mountain ash in her little greenhouse out back. He likes the mountain ash the best because Mommy says all you've gotta do is believe. Stiles can do that plenty. "Wash your hands, Stiles," she says, watching him brush the mountain ash off his hands. "You know what happens when you don't."

Stiles ducks his head a little. "We almost blow up Daddy?"

It was just the one time and Daddy had only been singed a _little_. 

"Yes," Mommy says, laughing. "We almost blow up Daddy." She picks Stiles up and turns on the water. "But I did the same thing to my Daddy too." She puts the soap into his hands with a wink. "He looked funny without eyebrows, let me tell you." 

Stiles tries to picture his Daddy without eyebrows and laughs so hard he falls off the stool.

*

He and Mom like to go running. It's just a little at first, up the street and back, but it gets longer and longer until they're out for hours. 

Sometimes, they run in town and Mom laughs when Stiles ducks around mailboxes and trashcans, and jumps the cracks in the sidewalk because they're gonna swallow him up. Most of the time, though, they go running through the Preserve and, if she can, Julia comes with them. Julia's another one of Mom's friends, like Alan, but different. She goes on Mom's trips with her and she shows Stiles how to follow someone in the woods.

He's getting good at it too. He can follow Julia through the woods and he even managed to track her nephew Derek once.

Derek _hated_ that. 

Julia doesn't always meet them at the entrance to the Preserve. Sometimes, she sneaks up on them and Stiles is getting good at knowing that too. 

Today, Mom's running behind him, keeping pace, and Stiles is ahead. He slows and then stops, looking around him for a moment until he's sure. 

"It's not nice sneaking up on people like that."

He hears a soft laugh and Julia steps out into view with Mei shadowing behind her. Mei's a couple years younger than Stiles and really shy. She's holding onto her mom's leg and, when Stiles waves hi, she ducks back behind the tree.

Mom comes to a stop behind Stiles. "Still not up for strangers, huh?"

Julia shakes her head. "Nope. This one's Mama's girl and shy as they come. At least I got one. I swear the rest of the kids are all Peter. Hey, honey? Can you do Mama a favor and tell Daddy that I'm going running with Stiles and Sonja?" 

Mei appears long enough to nod, before she goes dashing up the path. She's barely out of sight before Julia turns in the other direction and says, "Derek? Make sure she actually gets there this time."

"No problem, Aunt Jules." 

Derek drops down from the trees, landing right in front of Stiles. Stiles yelps and stumbles backward into his mother, but Derek doesn't even look back. He just heads up the path in the same direction his cousin had gone. 

Stiles frowns. "I missed him," he says, looking up at his mother. "How did I miss him?"

"Because," Julia says, pulling her hair back, "wolves are a part of the world around them. The forest expects them to be here. Don't worry, we'll work on that too. Before long, you'll know everything and everyone in these woods. Won't he?" 

Mom nods. "Yes," she says, smiling down at Stiles. "It's something you learn, Stiles, and it takes time." 

Stiles scowls and takes of running again. It won't take as long as they think. 

*

Except it does. They go running another day, through town this time since Julia is away on a business trip. Mom was supposed to go, but Julia wouldn't let her. They fought, Stiles heard them, and he knows Julia's worried. 

So's he.

Mom's tired lately. A lot. She's tired today, dark circles under her eyes, and Stiles doesn't want to go running. 

"Let's stay home," he says, watching her lace up her shoes. "There's a marathon. James Bond. We can make popcorn. Dad'll be home soon. He can bring us pizza."

"We're going, kiddo," Mom says, looking up at him. "There are going to be days when you won't want to do this. There are going to be a lot of days when you won't want to get up and run. There are days you won't want to do any of this, but you have to, Stiles. They need us to." 

Stiles doesn't know what she's talking about. Not yet. He knows this is all for something. He knows that this is the same things that Mom's mother showed her and someone showed her and that it's been going on for years. He's seen Mom writing in a journal that's older than she is, her handwriting careful and precise, but she hasn't let him read it yet. 

When she does, he'll know for sure who 'they' are. He thinks, though, that he can guess.

"Okay," he says, pulling on his coat and going to get her favourite hat. It's winter, it's cold, and she needs to wear it. "Just put this on for me, okay?" 

She looks at him. "I'm fine, Stiles." 

He doesn't argue, Mom always wins when he argues, so he just waits with her hat in hand.

With a shake of her head, she laughs and takes the hat. "You worry too much."

*

As it turns out, he doesn't worry enough.

*

Everything stops after the diagnosis. They don't go running anymore. They don't go to see Julia. Julia and Alan stop coming to the house. Mom doesn't say anything, but that's mostly because she starts sleeping a lot. 

"We'll go when I'm better," she says, in the beginning. "Enjoy the vacation, you'll be making up for it later." She tries to look stern, but it never works because she can't help smiling. 

This time, though, the smile is a weak one. 

His smile is weaker.

"Okay," he says, and goes to get her some tea.

*

He keeps going out to the greenhouse, though. Mom makes him promise to tend the plants. He trims, waters, harvests, and sometimes he even tries to sing.

The plants don't like his singing as well as his Mom's, but that's okay. Stiles doesn't like it either.

"She'll be back," he tells them, grinding up some mountain ash. It's warm enough that he can take it to Alan later. "It won't be long." 

*

But it is.

*

After a while, it's like none of it ever happened. The sicker Mom gets, the less Stiles does with everything. Dad doesn't like any of it and he doesn't like Stiles anywhere near it. He never has, but it's different now. 

Dad's got enough on his plate without Stiles making it worse. He keeps the house clean, he makes Mom's tea and coaxes her to eat sandwiches. He takes his meds without being told, keeps a careful watch on his schedule, and he tries not to see the sad look on Mom's face when he does it all.

Not only do his lessons stop, but Stiles learns quick not to mention them. He knows that whatever his Mom does on her trips, it's something that bothers his Dad a _lot_. He tries not to let on he knows about it, Stiles is little, but he's not dumb. Dad's never home when Alan's here, always leaves just a few minutes before, never goes with them when they go on runs or into the Preserve.

He sees the unease on his Dad's face whenever he walks into a room and finds Stiles and Mom talking. 

It's just easier not to say anything about it at all. 

The first time Mom goes into the hospital, when Dad goes to make sure she's settled for the night (and it's too late for Stiles to go with him), he goes into their bedroom and finds the case Mom keeps under her side of the bed. 

It doesn't look like much; Stiles remembers his Dad making it out of leftover lumber from the back deck. She keeps it locked, wearing the key around her neck, but Stiles isn't trying to get into it anyway. He knows her journals are in there, but he doesn't know what else and he doesn't want to know. He just sits on his bed for a while, hands on the box, and cries. 

It's the only time he does. 

*

Mom goes into remission. They tell Stiles that it's a good thing, that it means there's no new disease, but he can hear what they aren't saying too. It's there in the way that Dad looks at Mom, trying to smile when he looks like he wants to cry. They're trying to hide it for him, Stiles knows that, and he smiles like he believes it. 

That makes them smile for real, sort of, and it's okay for now.

Mom goes to lie down when they get back to the house so she's already asleep when Julia and Peter show up a little while later.

Peter stays outside, talking to Dad, rocking a sleeping Mei in his arms. Stiles looks at them through the living room window, watching the way his Dad's shoulders slump and the look on Peter's face, and then turns away to find Julia watching him.

She holds out her arms. 

He doesn't say anything for a long time. He doesn't cry either. He just hides in her arms and pretends that his Mom isn't dying. 

It doesn't work.

"She's going to die," he mumbles finally. "They just won't tell me."

Julia doesn't argue and Stiles knows why. She told him once that the wolves can tell when someone's sick. They can tell when someone's sick and when someone's getting better.

That means they can tell when someone isn't getting better too.

If Mom were going to get better, Peter would be able to tell. He wouldn't look as sad as he does and Julia would be smiling. 

"What happens then?" he asks, looking up at her. 

She sighs and leans down to kiss his forehead. "We take care of you―just like she wants. We're always going to be here for you, Stiles. No matter what." 

*

Except that's a lie, but it's not Julia's fault that she lies. Stiles knows that. She didn't know what was going to happen the next time she went away on one of hers and Mom's trips. 

She didn't know that her house was gonna to burn down and almost everyone was gonna die, but it does and they do. 

Stiles watches the life drain out of his mother when she hears it. She doesn't get out of bed for three days. He brings her tissues and tea, then crawls into bed with her and listens to her cry. He doesn't. Not even when he thinks of Mei peeking around Julia's leg, too shy to come out even though she's known them all her life. 

He wants to cry, but he can't. 

Instead, he just cuddles closer and presses his face into his mother's neck.

He hates the fire.

*

The fire doesn't just kill their friends. It takes his Mom too. She just gets more and more tired, sadness pulling her under with every passing day. Failure etches itself into new lines on her face and he's too young, then, to understand any of it. 

He just leans his head against her hand on the bed and pretends he doesn't hear her cry when she sleeps, her journal clutched tight against her chest.

*

He doesn't see Julia after the fire. 

When she comes back to town, she goes to the hospital where Peter is and stays there.

He doesn't blame her. 

Not much.

*

"I wish I had more time," Mom says, face pale. The doctors won't look them in the eye anymore, and when Dad isn't at the hospital, he's working. He can't look Stiles in the eye either. No one talks to him. No one but Mom.

Stiles doesn't argue. Arguing makes Mom feel worse and he doesn't want to do anything that makes her feel bad. 

Instead, he makes her tea and sits on the bed with her. Sometimes, she tells him stories, but most of the time she sleeps. 

Stiles doesn't. He just lies there and listens her breathing. 

He wants to remember how it sounds. 

*

"You're leaving, aren't you?" 

When Julia comes to the house, a bag on her shoulder and boxes in her car, Stiles doesn't really need to ask the question, but he's gotta say something, right?

For her part, Julia just looks sad. She sits down beside him on the step. "Derek and Laura need to be somewhere that isn't this town." She laughs, the cracking sound of it makes Stiles want to cry. It's not _fair_ that everybody has to go or die. "I think I do too." 

Stiles just nods. He doesn't want to be here if Mom's not, he can't blame Julia for wanting to leave either. He pulls his legs up, tucks his knee beneath his cheek and looks at her. She's worrying her wedding ring, staring out at her car and the empty car seat in it.

"I think I know who set the fire," Julia says. "There are hunters in the area. The investigators say it was an accident, but I know―" she curls her hands into fists and lowers her head. He just waits while she sits there. He knows that feeling too. Everything just welling up in your head until you think you're going to explode, but you don't and it just keeps coming and it _hurts_. Yeah, Stiles knows how that feels. "There's a time, Stiles, when we can't do what we do. This is one of them." She turns to look at him and she's crying. "And I don't want it to be." 

Stiles hates it when adults cry. They're supposed to make it better. He's just a kid. He can't make _anything_ better. He shuffles closer and puts his arm around her. "It's okay. Mom said it's okay to feel like that sometimes, but—" he hesitates. Julia's a grown-up. She's supposed to be the one telling him this stuff. 

"But?"

"But she also says you can't if you care too much."

"She's right. Our code says that I can't, " Julia says, sadly, "but my heart doesn't care. I want to do it anyway. That's what caring does. You _want_ to and what we do is not something anyone should ever want." She looks at him with a bleak expression, then hugs him close. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I am. I wish I could be here―"

Stiles pulls back. "I wish you could be too." He doesn't like saying so. He feels guilty. His Dad deserves better, but he can't help it. Dad doesn't understand this stuff and, without Mom or Julia, Stiles won't either. There's too much he doesn't know yet.

She smiles, pushing his hair back, smoothing it into place. "It won't be for forever."

"Yeah," Stiles says, "It will." 

*

Stiles doesn't mean to forget, exactly, but after Mom―he can't think about it. The lessons, the greenhouse, it all just sort of goes away and he lets it. 

Hell, he makes it. 

*

Until Laura comes back. 

It's weird how that works. She comes back into town and he doesn't know a thing about it until her body turns up in the woods. His entire world shifts beneath his feet and he doesn't know a thing about it.

Not until Laura's dead and Scott...

Scott gets _bit_. 

Stiles has never met a bitten werewolf before. Not that he knows of. Mom knew some, probably, but that's another one of the things they never got to before she got sick. He doesn't know anything about them except that, sometimes, things are different for them. 

Which means everything he learned is probably useless. 

Great. 

*

God, he misses his Mom. 

*

He makes it up as he goes. Some of it is based on what he learned, but most of it isn't. Most of it is part-Google, part-Stiles, and a whole lot of BS. 

And it works.

It _really_ works. 

Kind of awesome, really, but that doesn't stop him from looking over his shoulder. The farther things go, the antsier Stiles gets. He feels like there are ants running under his skin. 

Everything's getting worse, falling apart, and no matter how much he helps Scott, he can't shake the feeling that it's about to blow up in his face.

It'd be easy to fix it. All he has to do is go talk to Deaton, but he doesn't. 

Going to Deaton means opening a door he locked a long time ago. 

*

Know what's funny about doors? Sometimes, you think you locked them when, yeah, you totally forgot.

Turns out? 

Stiles totally forgot. 

Because he doesn't go to Deaton, but that damn door swings right open nonetheless. He hasn't thought about any of it in years, but now is another story. Helping Scott starts him thinking about it again and once he does, it's impossible to put the genie back in the bottle. 

Mom's greenhouse is still in the backyard. He stares at it through the window for a long time before he dares walk out there and open the door. The plants are long dead and the building is falling apart, but Stiles swears he can smell her perfume when he opens the door and steps inside. It's the first time he's gone near the building since the last time she'd gone into the hospital.

It makes him sick to look at it. 

He should clean it up. He remembers most of what Mom taught him and his notes are probably in the house somewhere. There's even a chance her notes are still around here somewhere. Maybe in that box she'd always kept. He's never actually looked at the thing, but it's sitting under his bed, just waiting for him to open it up. 

But he does remember enough, he thinks, that it wouldn't be hard to get the plants growing again. It might even be a good idea to have a guaranteed source if Scott happens to need them. He has no idea how to explain any of it to Scott (mostly when Mom never did get around to explaining it all to him) but that's not a problem anyway.

The problem is he can't take another step inside. After he opens the door and gets that first, long look at the greenhouse and the memories trapped inside it, Stiles freezes. He stands in the doorway and freezes. 

Mom's _gone_ and remembering that hits him like a punch. 

It's almost easy, sometimes, to deal with it. The day to day routine of being alive makes it easy. There's always something else to do or somewhere else to be and that's without bringing Scott's time of the month into things. 

There's always something to be thinking about, something to be doing, and he can let it slip to the back of his mind like it doesn't even matter. 

But there's no slipping it here. Here, standing in the greenhouse doorway, he's face to face with the reminder that his Mom is dead. Mom is gone and there's no bringing her back. Not ever. 

Stiles sinks to the floor like a deflating balloon. It's a slow process and, by the time he's done, he's leaning back against the door frame and watching the fading sunlight play across the everything. The room is smaller than he remembers, dustier, but she's everywhere he looks.

Hugging his knees to his chest, Stiles closes his eyes. 

*

"I'm thinking of fixing up the greenhouse."

Stiles is careful when he says it, careful to make sure he sounds casual, but there's no way to lessen the impact. It still hits his Dad like a bullet, stopping him cold. The eggs whites on his fork slip to the plate and he doesn't even notice.

"It's kind of falling apart," Stiles says, leaping into the silence. "Probably bringing down the property value. It's a wonder nobody's fined us yet."

Dad puts down his fork and looks at him. "Stiles..."

"She wouldn't like it," he says, staring at his plate. "It's falling apart and she would hate that." His voice chokes up, his throat aching, and Stiles hates everything so much right now. Hates that she's gone. Hates the emptiness where she should be and hates himself for letting it all go.

This isn't what she wanted.

"Is this just about the greenhouse?" 

He risks a glance at his father, sees the fear there. 

"Yeah, Dad," he says, "It is."

It's not the first lie he's told his father, but, somehow, that doesn't make it any easier. 

*

Okay, sure, he's lying to his Dad, but not really, right? It's not entirely a lie because he doesn't know yet. He still has no idea, really, what Mom was training him for. He is sure it involves the werewolves somehow, but beyond that? Not really. That's easier, in a way. Stiles has a feeling that finding out what his mother wanted him to do might just turn out to be one of _those_ discoveries; the life-changing, reality-shifting, perception-upending clusterfucks that is the foundation of good stories the world over.

He's a teenager. Even without the werewolf best friend and the accompanying supernatural shit, Stiles' life is pretty damn nuts already. He doesn't need to be complicating it with some super-secret destiny.

He is not Buffy fucking Summers and he isn't going to be, thank you very much. (Okay, mostly because if he burns down Beacon Hills High? He's going to be grounded into the _afterlife_ )

Yeah, he's not interested in the magical destiny thing, really not, but at doesn't mean a damn thing. He's going to go looking anyway. 

*

Part of him wants to ask Derek about Julia. A big part of him wants to ask about her, but he doesn't. It feels wrong to even think about it. He has this feeling like he isn't supposed to bring Derek into this (looking back, he can see how Mom always managed to avoid spending too much time around Peter and the other Hales. It's like she was trying to keep it that way and, maybe, she was), but it's not just that.

They barely know each other. Even though it feels like years, Stiles knows that it's only been a few months since Scott was bitten. He doesn't know Derek and Derek doesn't know him. Even when he was growing up, he'd only seen Derek maybe a handful of times when he'd visited the Hale house with his mother. That handful hadn't been quality bonding time either. A second here or there when Julia stopped to speak to her nephew, her smile fond and a little indulgent (Derek was her favourite and even Stiles knows that). Derek probably hadn't even paid attention to him. He's pretty sure Derek barely remembers him. 

So, yeah, not the kind of relationship where you turn up asking about one of your only surviving family members. Especially not when you're the guy who sort of accused him of murdering his own sister. Which, ouch, bad call on his part. Totally bad call on his part and a big, big reason to not expect heart to hearts with Derek anytime soon.

Not that they don't spend time around each other. Accidentally turning a guy into a fugitive from the law and then harbouring him gives you plenty of bonding time. They actually do kind of talk a little and Stiles holds his breath the entire time. It's weird how that works. He's spent years not thinking about any of this, but now that he's opened that door, it's all he can do.

Still, for as much as Derek mentions Laura and, rarely, Peter, he never, ever mentions Julia. The longer it goes on, the more Stiles worries. There are no awkward silences to hint at the worst case scenario, but he's still afraid. He doesn't know where Julia took Derek and Laura when they left Beacon Hills, doesn't know what happened when they did, and he's too damn afraid to to find out.

He can't do it. He can't handle the idea that she's gone. So, if that's the case, if Julia's really dead, then Stiles doesn't want to know. Since asking would mean knowing, Stiles doesn't ask. 

But that doesn't stop him from listening to every word Derek says and wondering. 

*

Stiles knows he could probably answer a lot of questions by just going upstairs and getting the box out from under his bed. Mom's journal is in it, he remembers seeing her lock it in there, and the answers he needs are probably in there. 

Except it doesn't feel right to do that. Not with the greenhouse in the shape that it's in. It'd be like jumping to the end of the book when you're halfway through chapter one. 

So, instead of going up there and getting those answers, Stiles goes to the hardware store instead. Being this is the kind of thing a guy needs help with, he calls Scott to go with him. 

"Do you actually know how to do this?" Scott asks, dubious, as they look over lumber. 

Stiles shrugs. "A little? We used to do stuff like this when I was a kid." He's helped both his parents out around the house. Granted, when he was a kid it was more bringing nails and dragging boards, but he figures it can't be _that_ hard, right?

Scott grimaces. "This isn't going to end well, dude." 

*

Which is how Scott ends up helping. Considering Stiles nearly nails himself in the head with the hammer a couple of times (pun totally not intended), he really appreciates it. 

Plus, his father looks so relieved when he comes out back to find Scott helping. "Looks like you boys have everything pretty well in hand."

Stiles doesn't really look his dad in the eye when he nods. "Nobody's cut off any limbs, nails have only gone into the wood and Scott thinks we might actually finish this without any real bloodshed."

Scott makes a show of holding up crossed fingers. "We hope."

Picking up the nails, Stiles turns away. He knows his dad's afraid of what will happen if he starts poking around the greenhouse. Dad was never, ever okay with whatever it was Mom was doing and he's definitely not okay with Stiles picking up the family tradition. He can see it every time written all over his face every time Dad looks out the kitchen window and catches sight of the greenhouse. 

He can feel it now in the awkward silence that follows Scott's little joke.

Stiles hands Scott the nails and forces a normal grin onto his face. "Hey, Dad? Didn't get a chance to start on dinner. How about pizza?"

His father starts to grin, then gives him a suspicious look. " _Pizza_?"

Biting the bullet, Stiles nods. "Yeah. Pizza. As in greasy, fatty take out that will clog your arteries before you even put any of it in your mouth? Yes, that is precisely what I am thinking." 

He is absolutely bribing his father right now and he mostly doesn't even feel guilty about it. 

Still, the way Dad grins is worth it. "Somewhere I'm sure something is either on fire or in ruins and you're going to break it to me gently over dinner, but right now? I think I don't care." 

"You are ridiculous, you know that right?" Scott asks just as soon as Dad's inside the house again. "You don't let your dad eat _pizza_?"

Stiles snorts. "Please. This is a reasonably small town, Scott. Everybody knows who my dad is. Everyone knows who I am. I know exactly where he goes and what he eats when he's not home. Trust me, he is totally indulging me with this 'eat healthy' thing. He knows it, I know it, but we are Stilinskis and we never, ever talk about the things we know that we both know." He punctuates that with a shrug. "It's a thing."

Scott looks skeptical, but this is one of those moments. They don't happen a lot, but sometimes, Stiles thinks that maybe it bothers Scott a little that he doesn't have these moments. Mrs. McCall is _awesome_ , but Stiles remembers Scott's dad. They'd never had a real relationship (because Scott's dad is an asshole and Stiles is absolutely still holding a grudge) so this kind of thing, watching Stiles with his father, is the kind of thing he doesn't get. 

Stiles knows because he has those moments too. Like, seriously, the Lydia thing had been so much easier to deal with when Mom was around to explain it. 

"Still weird," Scott says.

Stiles grins. "Yeah, it pretty much us, but it works." He grabs the hammer. "We should probably paint this thing, shouldn't we?" 

Scott looks at the greenhouse walls and their mix of old and new lumber. "Yeah, but after we make sure the glass is still water proof," he says, reaching up to run his fingers along that part. "No one's looked at it in years. No way it's still solid."

"Okay," Stiles nods. "Next time." 

They clean up after that. It's mostly quiet, but when they head back into the house, Stiles looks at Scott. "Thanks." 

It's quiet, so quiet that Scott might not have even heard it, but Stiles sees the way Scott smiles and ducks his head to say, just as quiet, "You're welcome."

*

The weather starts to warm up. Stiles has a free period at the end of the day and decides to skip out early. He takes his time walking to the jeep, contemplating the sky and thinking that Mom would have wanted the greenhouse door to be that shade of blue. 

He's still thinking about it when he gets into the jeep and has a heart attack. 

"You think I don't remember, don't you?"

Stiles thinks, all things considered, his reaction is pretty much understandable. Yelping "Holy _shit_ , seriously?" when you get into your jeep and find a grouchy werewolf glaring at you is actually tame when you think about it.

Okay, sure, most people would not actually _know_ said werewolf was a werewolf, but that's not the point.

Stiles breathes in, out, and then dumps his bag in the back. "Boundaries, Derek. Pretty sure we've talked about this." In his head, mostly, but it counts. "And I don't know. I didn't think it mattered, really. It wasn't like we were BFF. I barely knew you."

Derek makes a face, impatience written all over it. "How much does Scott know?"

"About the family history? Nothing," Stiles shrugs. "Considering I barely know anything, that's less of an issue than you might think it is." Okay, so he could have told Scott about knowing about werewolves, but it wouldn't have changed anything. Scott wouldn't have believed him any faster and most of what he knows goes back to that whole born/bitten problem that someone (not him) really needs to look into.

He scrubs a hand over his head and looks at Derek. "I was too little for a lot of it. Mom never got around to telling me the juicy bits. In fact, I'm pretty sure you know more about any of it than I do." 

"Maybe now," Derek says, "but not then. I knew there was something. She'd disappear for days at a time and when she'd come back―she smelled faintly of blood. Not hers. I couldn't figure out why and they wouldn't tell me." 

"But she did?"

"Eventually." 

Ever so helpful, really. Draping an arm over the steering wheel, Stiles turns to look Derek in the eye. "Yeah, so, this isn't Twilight, I am not Bella, and the mysterious creature of the night vibe is totally not working on me right now." Which it _isn't_ , okay? Sure, the leather jacket is hot and he's kind of hard-wired to be hot for werewolves anyway, but that doesn't mean Stiles is going to fall all over himself every time Derek glares at him.

Nope. Not even a little bit.

Damn it. 

" _Twilight_?" 

Stiles smirks. "Yeah, Twilight. It fits. Right down to the running through the woods shirtless part."

He kind of likes the way Derek stops and looks at him. "How―you know what?"

Raising his eyebrows, Stiles lets the smirk widen. "You reall―"

"No," Derek snaps. " _Never tell me_."

Stiles shrugs. "Not going to be a problem, dude. Heart to hearts are totally not my thing and you? You need to master words with multiple syllables before we get start talking about what makes your little werewolf heart―"

"Nous chasson les chasseurs," Derek says, cutting into the rant like he's not even listening (which, no surprise, he probably isn't). 

"And that means―what?" 

"We hunt the hunters." Derek opens the door of the jeep and gets out. "She had this journal and that was written on the cover. She kept it in her bag or under her pillow. It was always close. After about a month, I caught her on the phone to some of her contacts and she was looking through it. There were notes, names, people connected to the investigation. She was trying to figure out who was behind the fire." He looks uncertain, sad, and Stiles really, really hates the Argents right now. This isn't about protecting innocents or whatever bullshit story Chris Argent's spouting this week. "A couple of times, she talked to your Dad. He was helping her for your mom. They were partners, I think. She never explained that part, but your mom went with her on those trips, right? Before she got sick?"

Stiles nods once. His face feels hot, his fingers feel like ice, and he feels like he could fall over any second. It _sucks_ and, yet, he's never felt better. 

This is it. This is what they weren't telling him. This is what he was supposed to know all along. 

"All the time," he says, making himself speak. "She wouldn't tell me where she was going either and Dad wouldn't say." 

"They were hunting the hunters," Derek looks over his shoulder at the school. Allison's standing on the front steps, talking to Lydia. "There's a code. The hunters say they follow it, but―"

If they did, Derek's house would still be standing. Yeah, Stiles got that part. 

Derek closes the door, but the window's open so Stiles hears him when he says, "She told me about someone else too. A friend who used to help them." 

Stiles doesn't have to ask who. 

*

Stiles thought about getting a dog, once. After Mom died. Dad was almost talked around to the idea. He liked the idea of Stiles having someone at home with him when he was at work. They'd even gone to the pound a couple of times to look at the animals.

Only thing was, there aren't that many vets in town and everyone knows the best one is Alan Deaton. 

Mom's old friend. 

Stiles doesn't know why Alan works as a vet. He's not sure if it has anything to do with Alan's work with Mom (he was too little to care about stuff like that then and hasn't kept up enough to know now) or if it's just something to fill his time.

Either way, it didn't matter. He let the idea drop and Dad's never pushed it. It's stupid, but he still feels like a traitor when he walks up to the clinic and opens the door. He doesn't know if it's because of his Dad and how he felt about this stuff or if it's because of Mom.

Mom should be the one telling him this stuff. He shouldn't have to ask about any of it. He should know and it takes a minute outside the clinic to calm down. Pushing through it isn't going to help. It isn't going to get rid of the knot of tension in his stomach or the way his throat threatens to close off. 

If he's not careful, he'll probably have a throbbing headache and he is way, way too young to be this fucked up about things.

Which is totally not news. Still, it says a lot that when he opens the door, his stomach feels better and he doesn't feel like he's about to scream. 

"Stiles."

He looks up and smiles a little at the man in the doorway. His own reaction catches him off guard a little. After all the years of avoiding this place, he wasn't expecting to feel this relieved. 

"Weird."

"Not particularly," Alan says, "but it wouldn't be. Not for you. It's good to see you, Stiles." He raises his eyebrows. "You look taller―not sure about the hair, though." 

"Puberty took care of the height and the hair works for me." Stiles looks at him, really looks, and Alan hasn't changed much in the time since the funeral. It's kind of reassuring in a way, but Stiles isn't here for reassurance. It'd be so much easier if he was, but none of this is doing anything but making him dread the next few minutes.

"Hi." 

"I suppose it would be anti-climactic to say I've been expecting you?" Alan waves Stiles into the back with him. 

"I have no idea," Stiles says, honest. "So, you know, feel free to enjoy it." He pauses. "But you have been?"

"Well, in a way. I always knew, sooner or later, you were going to find your way to my door." Alan takes him into one of the exam rooms and locks the door behind him. "Which sounds more cryptic than it really is, I suppose, considering everything." 

Yeah, this isn't going to be one of those conversations you can risk someone overhearing. 

"The way we lost your mother―there was a lot that we didn't have time to go over with you."

"Like the part where you _kill people_?" 

"Ah, so someone's been speaking with you already." Alan folds his arms, leaning back against the exam table. "Since I don't know any of the others are in town, I'm going to assume that Julia's been talking out of school to her nephew." 

He frowns at that. 

"She wasn't supposed to?"

"No. Officially, neither side is supposed to know people like Julia or your mother exist. It would make them targets of both. Some packs wouldn't want that kind of interference in their affairs and, well, the hunters―" Alan shrugs. "They would have obvious reasons to want them gone. It's one of the reasons Julia wasn't permitted to go on those missions alone. She fell in love with a werewolf, married him,  
and she bore his children. That's the sort of thing which creates compromises judgment and she can't afford that kind of risk." 

"No, of course not," Stiles says, "When you're committing _murder_ , you really can't be emotionally compromised. Makes it damn difficult to get away with it." 

Alan doesn't respond to the jib. Just smiles slightly. "How much did your mother tell you about this situation?"

Stiles shrugs. "Not a lot. She was still working on the basics with me." Which makes sense. He thinks back to the day he found her in the bathroom, washing what must have been blood out of her clothes, and tries to picture her explaining it to him then. "Couldn't take the risk. Back then, I probably would have said something to Scott."

Or half the town.

"Most likely," Alan nods. "Well, for starters, have you ever heard of the province of Gévaudan?" 

Stiles starts to shake his head, but then the word connects. "La bete du Gévaudan. I dug it up back around the time Scott got bitten. Unexplained animal attacks, the usual crap about a monster stalking the area, hunters rushing to save the day. The usual BS. It wasn't much use." 

"Yes, the legend has evolved to place the blame on one monster, but the reality is a good deal more complicated than that." Alan moves around the room, cleaning up as he talks. 

"There really was a werewolf involved?" Stiles asks, perching on the edge of the exam table. He taps out a rhythm on the table's surface as he listens. 

"Not just one," Alan stops. He's holding a jar in his hand. Stiles squints at it. Mountain Ash. He smiles before he can stop himself. Alan responds by tossing him the bottle. "Two packs worth."

"Two packs?"

"Territorial dispute," Alan goes back to working. "Most of the people that died in those attacks were either wolves or human members of the packs. It was a nasty bit of business, but not what the legend has made it out to be." He looks at Stiles and his next words are absolutely not a surprise. "Or what the Argent family has made it out to be."

"Shit," Stiles is rolling the bottle between his hands and he stops with the mention of Allison's family. He hadn't noticed that part in the legend. Truthfully, it hadn't been much use to him so he'd just saved it in his files and moved on. "So they were the hunters that stopped the beast?"

"Something like that," Alan nods. "I know that's how the Argents tell the story and I know what they say about the Code being born out of that."

"Noticing a little skepticism there."

"A little. For the most part, the hunters do legitimately follow the code—"

"But not always." Stiles puts the bottle back on the exam table. This is probably not a good time to be handling the ash. With his luck, the stuff rolling around in his brain would seriously fuck up the ash's mojo.

"No, not always. Not then and that's where your mother's ancestors come into things. You see, Stiles, while it was the king who sent out the hunters, it was Queen Marie who sent out the wardens." 

"And the wardens would be?"

"Humans aware of the truth. People who'd grown up with and around werewolves and understood them. In fact, at least one was the child of a wolf. She was the daughter of the werewolf credited with being la bete. His _human_ daughter."

"That―wait, what?"

"It happens, sometimes, though we don't know why." Alan shrugs. "We've never had a chance to really dig into it and the wolves haven't exactly been in a hurry to explain it. At any rate, because she was human, the hunters left her alone. Modern day hunters might believe it was the genesis of their Code, but her own journals say they ignored her because she was no threat to them." 

Stiles can see where this is going. Very Disney if you ignore the bloodshed. "But she was."

"She was. When the hunters killed la bete, they didn't stop there. They went after both packs and killed every werewolf they could find―including her siblings. Some of whom were parents. She took the children in as her own and went before the Queen to beg for mercy." 

"And it worked?"

"Queen Marie was Polish and the daughter of the king of Poland. According to the legends, one of her nurses was a werewolf. This woman protected her after her father was deposed and the family fled to safety. Supposedly the pack stayed with her in one form or another for her entire life and she was very fond of them. She agreed to help, even going so far as to petition the church for its assistance. It was the beginning of what would become a worldwide organization. Humans who enforce the Code. They track down the hunters that violate it and―"

Stiles draws a finger across his throat. "Lights out?"

"It's a good deal more complicated than that, but yes, that's it in a nutshell." Going to one of the shelving units, Alan starts poking through the boxes. "It's not something easily taken on. Given time, your mother might have decided it wasn't for you. It's probably why she held back for as long as she did, but the wolves have always been here, Stiles. They're as much a part of nature and creation as you or I and their place in things needs to be protected."

"Top of the food chain, right?"

"Effectively. Werewolves have their own societal structure, Stiles. Their own hierarchy and system of government stretching all the way across the world―or they did. People like the Argents have been doing their best to destroy it for hundreds of years. They've had the backing of kings, presidents, and prime ministers. Even some religious groups." When Alan turns around, he's holding a lock-box in his hands. "The Wardens have never trusted easily. They keep to their own, handing down the responsibility to their children and they almost never, ever take in new recruits. It's too big a risk to trust anyone, even for resources. They took what Queen Marie gave them in the beginning and invested them wisely. And, speaking of resources, you'll need this." 

Stiles looks down at the open lock box and the book in Alan's hand. It looks familiar. Like the one he remembers his mother writing in.

"Why?"

"You might be needing it in the future and, for now, it'll provide you with a lot of answers as well as access to those resources I mentioned."

Stiles sits down. "Resources?"

"Money, weapons, information―some of that will be out of date, obviously, but the rest should be good. You need to feel this out, Stiles, before you even think of making any decisions. There's a whole world on the other side of this that you haven't seen yet. There's a lot more out there than just the werewolves and the hunters and that's part of the problem. The hunters can't see any more than you can. They have no access."

"And what people don't understand, they fear, right?"

"Precisely. Fear is a powerful motivator, Stiles. Human beings put a lot of stock on our place in the world. It defines us. As much as the hunters may tell themselves they're protecting the innocent, their actions sometimes don't bear that out. "

Stiles reaches out to take the book, tracing the insignia on it. He remembers his mother doing the same thing and the feeling that evokes is at odds with the anger brewing in him. "Yeah," he says, letting that anger out, "I've seen Allison's dad in action."

"Yes, Chris is a prime example," Alan agrees. "He's a good man―most of the time, but he's a man without perspective. You might call him a true believer, but fanatic would be more appropriate. He's fiercely devoted to the hunt and his version of the code, which gives him a very isolated view of werewolves. He can tell you things about a werewolf's biology that I don't even know, but about the wolves themselves and their place in the world? He can't tell you a thing and I've come to believe that's by design. Hunting families dehumanize the wolves as part of the training they give their children. It makes killing them easier."

"Yeah, probably makes it a hell of a lot easier to ignore the Code when they feel like it," Stiles says, the words coming out quietly. He puts his mom's journal down, laying a hand on it. 

"Effectively, yes," Alan nods. "It also prevents, or at least lessens, the number of traitors. It's not uncommon―when a hunter gets too close to the wolves―for them to cross the line and join the pack."

"Happens a lot, huh?"

"Enough to be a concern. More than a few hunters have made the decision to side with the wolves without joining a pack. Enough to drive the hunters to desperation. What happened to the Hales isn't new. Some hunters just decide that it isn't worth it to let them live. They start killing every pack they find. It's what happened in the beginning. Within a few years of killing the beast and his pack, they'd all but destroyed the werewolf population of France and that's when things got worse." Alan opens the lock box again and removes another book. This one is old. Very old. So much so that he's careful to set it on the table, opening it with reverence. "There are things out there, Stiles, that are far more dangerous to the world than werewolves. Things that look on humans as prey, if we're lucky, or just playthings if we aren't. Things that don't give a damn about the hunters or their weapons, not that many hunters see them. You've seen from the Argents that hunters, generally, are a migratory group. They go where the wolves are, never staying in one place too long and especially not if they've wiped out the local pack. We don't know if they realize what's happening or if they're just ignorant, not that it matters either way. The damage is done." Alan seems to find what he's looking for and turns the book around so Stiles can see. "Some of these things, we don't have a name for any longer. Their names have been lost with the dead."

The pictures on the page are sketches, faint ones, but that's actually a mercy. It might be just a sketch, but even that is gruesome. Enough to make his stomach clench and twist in protest. Stiles takes a shallow breath and shuts his eyes. He's seen a lot since Scott was bitten, but what he's looking at is completely beyond the pale. 

"Do I even want to know what that is?" he asks, reluctantly leaning over to take a better look. 

"That is what happens when you remove wolves from the picture." Alan hands him the book. "The supernatural community does have a lot to fear from humans, they're dangerous in numbers, but this is the age of science. Rationality. The rational human mind cannot conceive of a world where creatures like werewolves exist. It's that refusal to believe which has left the human race unguarded against most threats. With the exception of the hunters and wardens, they've lost the abilities and experience of their ancestors. Most of them can't recognize the threat, much less defend against it. You've seen what happens when you shoot a werewolf?"

Stiles has. Not much shy of wolfsbane is going to slow them down for long and he's pretty sure that wolfsbane wouldn't work on the guys in the book he's looking at. "I'm going to guess that's shooting one of these guys would be oh, so much worse?"

"That would be putting it mildly. I'd doubt, however, that they'd actually get a chance to pull the trigger." Alan takes the book back, flipping it shut and putting it aside. "Human beings simply aren't fast enough or strong enough against some of these predators. Right now, in some communities, the only real protection they have are the local werewolf packs."

"And when the hunters move into town and kill off the local pack, they're pretty much ringing the dinner bell for whatever else is lurking in the woods?" Stiles groans. "Beautiful."

"That'd be about it." Alan sighs. "The Hales weren't perfect, Stiles, but they were one of the most stable packs in the state. Respected. When they were murdered, some of the packs nearby thought it best to relocate. That had an impact and not a pleasant one. No alpha is going to risk bringing their pack into this area as long as there are hunters ignoring the Code." 

Stiles draws in a slow breath. He holds it, counts off the seconds, and lets it back out just as slowly. "I don't think I can do what you're asking me to do."

"I'm not asking you anything," Alan says, but the _yet_ is definitely there. "But you're underestimating yourself, Stiles. You can handle a lot more than you believe. Your mother saw that potential and so do I." He shakes his head. "I'm not expecting you to be gung ho about this. This is a calling that will see you end a human life at some point in the future and there's every chance in the world that life might belong to a friend." 

Stiles pushes hands over his hair, staring down at the book in front of him. His mother's journal. His journal. He tries to picture himself standing over Allison with a gun in his hand. Tries and fails. It's impossible. He can't. He _won't_.

He doesn't even realize that he's said that part aloud until Alan says, "That is always a possibility. As much as I think you're capable of handling a responsibility like this, that doesn't necessarily mean you're going to choose to. At the end of it all, no matter how much training you're given, this is your decision. That's something your mother accepted long before she actually started training you."

Stiles turns his head, catching the expression on Alan's face. "But she still thought I'd choose to do this?"

"Yes. Look at the things you've done since Scott turned. The choices that you've already made and are willing to make. You protect people, Stiles, and I think that you can do whatever you need to do that."

"It's not―" Stiles thinks of his Dad. "It's not what you think."

"You're afraid," Alan shrugs. "You don't want to lose anyone the way you lost your mother. You don't want to be alone. That's not a crime, Stiles. It's a beginning. Emotional distance is something you learn. Not something you're born with."

"I can't learn how to be a cold-blooded killer." Stiles fumbles the words when he says them. He believes it, it's true, but he remembers the way Peter had looked when he died. Maybe he doesn't need to learn how. Maybe he already knows.

Alan looks sympathetic. "You aren't, Stiles. Whatever happened with Peter, you aren't."

"How do you know?"

"Because a cold-blooded killer wouldn't ask that question. He'd already know. He wouldn't care, one way or the other, but he'd know." He picks up the book and pushes it into Stiles' hands again. "Take this home with you. Read it. Read the ones you've got locked up in that box of hers. You'll see what I mean."

Stiles looks down at the book. "Is there anything in here that tells me exactly how you fit into all this?"

Alan's smile widens into a smirk. "No, but we'll get to that too." 

"This isn't me saying yes to anything," Stiles says, but he sounds uncertain, even to his own ears, and he's surprised by that. It should be insane that he's thinking like this, but he's not. He's seriously curious about this. He wants to know. His _mom_ was training him for a future where he might have to kill people. It's so completely impossible that it sounds laughable, but it isn't, and he is curious. He wants to know. Alan's right. She wouldn't have trained him if she didn't think he could handle it and that's the part that's got him and he knows it.

His mom was pretty much training him to be some kind of vigilante.

"Go home, Stiles," Alan murmurs, quieter. "This is a lot to take in. You're not going to make peace with it after one conversation." 

Stiles manages a little grin. "Yeah, but I'm a teenager. We're all about the instant gratification." 

"Which is not something I need to be reminded about," Alan grimaces at that and Stiles does not want to know. Not even a little bit. 

"I don't think I need to know anything about that," Stiles says. He looks down at the book again and runs his fingers over the insignia on the cover. "Does this mean anything?"

"Yes, but we're not going there tonight either. Like I said, Stiles, this isn't something you jump into after one conversation."

Stiles nods and turns around. The door is right there and he only just manages to remember Alan locking it before he goes face first into the thing. He grins a little sheepishly at Alan and then turns around to unlock it.

When he does, he looks at the book again and sees his mother, her scarf trailing down over her shoulder, brilliant red against the blue of her gardening shirt, frowning as the pen had scratched its way across the paper. 

He remembers bringing her a mug of juice, filled nearly to the brim, only spilling a little when he'd put it down.

He thinks, even from here, he can see the yellowing of the pages that had gotten wet. 

It's difficult to get the words out, his mouth has gone dry and his lips just don't want to form the words. "Alan?"

"Yes, Stiles?"

He looks back. "Thank you, but, why do you have this one and not the others?"

"That one's special," Alan says. "She didn't want you reading it before you were ready. When it became clear to her that she wasn't getting any better, your mother brought this to me for safe-keeping."

Stiles nods, hand on the door. "Why didn't she just leave it with my Dad? Is it because he didn't like it?"

"No. Your father has a lot of issues with what your mom did. Not all of them come from a professional standpoint, but he would have kept this for you. It's your choice and your mother made that clear long before you were born." Alan puts the other book back into the lock box and slips it out of sight amidst the other supplies on the shelf. "She just didn't want him to take the risk. It would be bad enough for a police officer to be found with that in his home, but if a hunter discovered it? It would be a lot worse. She knew if she wasn't going to be here to protect you herself, she'd have to find a different way to do it." 

The bell rings out front, breaking the quiet, and Stiles makes tracks for the door. Not wanting to be seen by whoever's out front, Stiles goes out the back. 

Derek's car is parked next to his jeep.

"Seriously? What, are you stalking me now?" 

Leaning against the car, Derek shrugs.

Stiles walks over to the jeep and shoves the book beneath the driver's seat. "Look, from what Deaton says, this is supposed to be none of your business anyway―"

"I can call her," Derek says. "Julia. She's alive." 

Stiles turns around. "You―"

"I said I remember you," Derek shrugs again. "I remember you being in the woods with your mom and Aunt Jules. I can call her. It might help having someone around who knows about this stuff―from experience, I mean." 

"No," Stiles shakes his head. "I don't―I don't know what I'm doing with any of this yet." His gaze goes to the jeep and he thinks about the journal. "I don't even know I believe it yet." He bites his lip for a minute. "She's okay, though, right?" As soon as he says it, he realizes the mistake. "She's―she's better?"

Derek is the one to turn away this time. Stiles only gets a glimpse of the look on his face, but it's different. Guilty. Pained. "She's different." His voice sounds hollow and Stiles feels his throat tighten. It's easy to forget, sometimes, just how alone Derek is. The only family he has left is a comatose uncle and an aunt he never sees.

"You can tell her," Stiles says, fumbling over the words. "That I know. That I'm talking to Deaton. I don't know what I'm doing with it yet, but...you can tell her about it."

With that, Stiles gets in the jeep, but not without saying, "Derek? Thanks." 

 

*

He doesn't rush right home and read the journal. It seems wrong, somehow. He does sit there with it in his room, holding it in his hands. 

He'll never forget. Mom had always laughed about her bad memory, compensating for it with scribbled reminders here and there. Growing up, there had been scraps of paper all over the house with his mother's handwriting on them. 

They still have a lot of them. They'd been finding them for years after she died, tucked in the weirdest places and sometimes still smelling of her perfume. 

Stiles takes in a shaky breath. He opens the book and looks at that familiar writing. It blurs beneath his gaze and he shuts his eyes. It's never going to not hurt, losing her, but sometimes he can forget a little. Sometimes, it slips to the back of his head behind werewolves and dad's diet and the shitload of other stuff that sneak in there when he's not looking. Sometimes. 

It always comes back and, when it does, it hits him like a fucking sledgehammer. 

He gets up, leaving the book on the bed, and paces around the room for a minute. He hasn't heard her voice in years. There are tapes, video, of holidays and birthdays and he can't watch any of them. 

"Can't do this," he mutters, looking at the book. "I can't―" He makes himself dart back to the bed, grab it up and open it to the first page. 

_I'm sorry, sweetheart. Believe me, Stiles, I am so very sorry. This was never the way this should go. We were supposed to have years to get you ready for the truth. I left this with Alan because of that. I never wanted this to be how you found out the truth. Words on a page can't show you the truth of our purpose. You needed to be told by someone who's lived it; to be shown each and every step along the way. There's no possible way to learn this easily. It's brutal, cold, and a terrible secret to ask anyone to keep, much less take part in. It's not something to be learned at a distance―or from beyond a grave and―_

He snaps the book shut. He stares at it for a long moment and sees his mother writing in it. Familiar, little rituals that every kid knows but took on whole new importance with him. 

Stiles swallows hard. "I know, Mom," he says, wishing she could hear. "I know." 

He pushes the book under his pillow. 

He'll read it tomorrow. 

*

Which turns out to be a good decision on his part because a few minutes later, his Dad is knocking on the door. 

"Yeah?"

The door opens and his Dad sticks his head inside. "Scott's downstairs." He looks back over his shoulder for a moment. "He's upset. Won't say what it is, but there's lipstick on his chin and it's really not his colour, so I'm guessing something to do with the Argent girl."

"I dunno, Dad, Scott's never been good about picking lipsticks. There was this purple once? Completely wrong." Stiles shakes his head. "And the less said about his eyeshadow choices the better."

"I can imagine."

Stiles grins for a second. "So, that bad?"

"Yeah. I'm heading out, but I left some money in the kitchen if you guys want to order pizza or something."

Yeah, like Stiles doesn't see through that particular suggestion in a second. He thinks about pointing out that, being teenage boys, if they do there won't be any leftovers for his father to Bogart. He thinks about it, but decides it/s more fun to order a veggie pizza instead.

He'd feel guilty about this, but he knows Dad would do the same thing in a hot second. Also, he probably will save at least one good piece for him.

He's not a total fascist about this stuff.

"Thanks," he says, slipping out the door. 

"Any time, son."

Dad claps him on the shoulder, smiles, and heads down the stairs ahead of him.

It's about there that Stiles really gets it.

His Dad knows about the wolves. His Dad _knows_.

"Shit." 

It's a second before he can make his legs obey him and take him down the stairs. He needs more time, his feet are still unsteady when he goes down to meet Scott, but he's got it under control enough that Scott doesn't notice.

Not that Scott would. He looks like shit. 

Stiles takes one look at him and makes a face. "This would be so much easier if you could get drunk, you know."

Scott glares at him. "Helpful, Stiles, real helpful."

Shrugging, Stiles grabs him by the arm and gives him a shove in the direction of the stares. "Come on, get upstairs and tell Uncle Stiles all about it."

It's a short story so by the time they get to Stiles' room, Scott's pretty much already finished. He throws himself down on the bed and looks at the ceiling. It's kind of pathetic, really, but Stiles isn't judging. Mostly because he's beginning to see what Alan meant. 

"Pretty sure holding guns on teenagers for _making out_ isn't exactly in the handbook," Stiles says, sitting down at the computer. "But it'll be okay, dude. It's not like you two are the first teenagers to ignore a father's wishes. Just, uh, avoid the ritual suicide part and you should be fine." 

Scott lifts his head and Stiles shrugs again. "Also avoiding the wolfsbane bullets would be good too." 

"Y'think?" Scott rolls over onto his stomach. "This is just―I know, I sound stupid, but―"

Stiles sighs. "Look, I know I give you grief about not being more excited about the whole creature of the night deal, but cut yourself some slack, Scott. You got turned into a werewolf and that's awesome, but only if you _want it_. You didn't. That's bad enough, but you've had hunters on your ass from go. This isn't how this stuff is supposed to go. I think you're allowed a little complaining."

He sounds way too supportive and the way Scott looks at him backs that up. "Huh?"

"Sorry," Stiles shrugs, grinning. It feels awkward on his face, a bad imitation of the real thing, but he needs Scott to believe it right now. He's not ready to be answering the big questions and, yeah, he's not ready for the look on Scott's face when he finds out the Stilinski family secret. "I was trying supportive on for size. Too much?"

"Little bit, yeah," Scott grins, "but thanks. I think I'm too freaked out to be upset now."

"Whatever works, dude." Stiles grabs the phone. "So, I'm thinking pizza, too much TV, and then more pizza. Somewhere in there we'll start working out a plan so you and Allison can totally sneak around behind her parents' backs."

"I'm thinking I like the way you think." Scott sits up, already bouncing back. Stiles wishes he had that, but he knows he doesn't. Scott rolls with the punches better than anyone Stiles knows and, thinking about that, he makes a connection he really wishes he hadn't.

He gets it, then, sitting there and looking at his best friend. He gets what Alan meant about getting too close to the wolves. He tries to picture himself in Julia's shoes, seeing her husband's pack murdered. Her children. 

Stiles thinks about Chris Argent pressing Scott against the hood of a car, putting a gun in his face, and his hand tightens around the phone so much so that the plastic protests. He loosens his grip at that and looks at Scott, expecting a question, but Scott is staring at his cellphone. He's still smiling, but sadder than before. Probably looking at pictures of Allison.

He shakes his head and looks away. He's already too close to Scott. They've been friends too long, been through too much, for Stiles to be able to do a damn thing about emotional distance. 

Maybe Chris is a lot closer to the Kate side of the line than he's comfortable admitting to himself, but maybe he has company. 

*

He reads the journal. 

*

_You're reading this, so I know you've finally gone to Alan. I'm sure you have questions about him and I wish I had answers, but I don't. Whatever his role in all this really is, he's kept it to himself and I've learned to respect that. You can trust him, Stiles, so don't be afraid to talk to him. Whatever his secrets and his reasons, Alan's been a friend to hunter, warden, and wolf alike._

_He's been better about keeping to the rules than any of us have been._

_Myself included._

_I wish I could have been there to tell you all of it myself, but Alan knows things that I don't. Who knows, kiddo, maybe you'll be able to get it out of him. I know I never could._

*

"Chris Argent threatened Scott."

Alan's hand stills. The cat yowls and he smiles an apology at it. It's a crabby little calico, hissing whenever Stiles gets too close, but the second Alan's hand starts up with the ear scratchies, it goes right back to purring. "I had wondered how that would go." 

He sounds sad, but resigned. Stiles knows this isn't Alan's first time at the rodeo, but the look on his face says there's a whole hell of a lot more that he's not sharing. Stiles isn't sure he wants to know. Really isn't. 

"I'm helping them sneak around, but that's not going to last long." Stiles sits down, keeping careful distance from the demon cat. "Guess I don't have to tell you how this will go."

"I've seen it before." With Alan, Stiles is realizing, a lot of what he doesn't say is as important as what he does. Sure, that's pretty much standard fare for most people, but there's something about the way Alan looks at him. "Usually there's bloodshed involved. Like I've said before, Chris is a good man, but very misguided. It's been a long time since he listened to a viewpoint that didn't come from family and that won't change easily." 

"And probably won't end any better than the sneaking around." Stiles leans on the desk and buries his face in his forearms. "This sucks." 

"Pretty much," Alan sighs. "This isn't how it was supposed to be—not for any of us. Kate Argent ruined far more lives than just the ones she ended." 

"No kidding, talked to Derek lately?"

"I have not, but I know what you mean." He doesn't say anything more than that, but Stiles can hear it in Alan's voice and it hurts. He's getting to know Derek. They're not exactly friends, probably never will be, but enough that Stiles has a fresh hate for Kate and the rest of Allison's family. He's been digging into Beacon Hills before the fire, looking for unexplained murders and crimes, but come up empty so far. 

He can't find a single death that might throw doubt on Kate's role in the fire. Going by that, he doesn't know why any of them let her live. His Mom and Julia can't have been the only ones, but none of them did a thing. No one hunted Kate down and made her pay for what she did to Derek. It's wrong and Stiles can't do anything about it (especially not now) but that doesn't stop him from being angry.

Derek's alone, a young Alpha without anyone to explain the rules to him, and there's no way it won't end in a bloodbath at the rate that everything's going. 

He _hates_ the Argents. 

As far as he can tell, the Hales are the only innocent party in the whole damn thing and how fucking unfair is that?

*

_'The attacks stopped when a hunter killed a man, but that's not the end of the story. You see, the animals were werewolves in the midst of a war and many of the dead were wolves themselves. Two packs fighting over territory. Our records tell us that neither was truly evil. No more than their human cousins fighting over the same, but that didn't stop the Argents. It never does._

_There are a lot of hunters out there, Stiles, but none so smart as the Argents. They're talented, natural leaders, and they have a lot of weight in the hunting community. I suspect they might have been involved in the fire. We'd had reports of their movement in the area, suspected there might have been an Argent in town, but I don't know yet. I haven't talked to Julia much since the fire. Beyond our local contacts, I haven't tried contacting any of the others at all. I don't know how the conversation is shaping up, but if I'm right and it was an Argent, then I can imagine the debate that's raging. It isn't the first time we've had it._

_The hunters have their code and we have ours, but ours comes with sentences and judgements in a way that theirs does not. Hunters strip humanity away from the werewolves to make them easier to kill. Wardens permit themselves no such deceptions. Wolf or hunter, when we kill, we are taking a human life._

_We remove a living, breathing soul from this earth._

_Sometimes, we wipe out an entire line, and that's the conversation our counterparts are having. This is not the first line the Argents have crossed. It's not the first time we've discussed ending their line._

_It's never been done before and I suspect that it still hasn't as you read this._

_But it will._

_If the Argents are behind the Hale fire, then it's no less than the first shot in a final war. They mean to wipe out the entire race._

_They'll tell themselves, and anyone that listens, that they're protecting the innocents of the world. They'll kill every omega they can find, limit the size of the packs, and pen them in until the alphas have no choice but fight back._

_That will be their excuse. Their justification. I've heard them use it before. They probably used it to justify the fire._

_That can't happen, Stiles. The wolves are as necessary to this world as we._

_I can't ask you to interfere. I won't. You're too new to this yet. Too inexperienced for action, but you can speak. You remember Mei and the others. You remember all of them._

_You can speak for the dead, sweetheart. Me included.  
_

*

Stiles can't read anymore after that. He closes the book, burying it in his bookshelf, and leaves. His Dad's still working, which is probably for the best. There'd be no hiding it right now. Not with the mess his head's in. 

He tries cleaning. It used to work. He'd spend hours scrubbing the house from top to bottom, putting everything into it until he could fall asleep and shut the world out for a few hours. 

It doesn't work this time, so he does something he hasn't in years.

He goes running in the woods. He doesn't mean to pick the old path, the one that he'd run with his mother and Julia so many times before. He grabs his favourite hoodie from the jeep, pulls it on against the chill and lets his feet lead the way. It's as easy as he thought it would be and he realizes his mistake when his mother's voice starts in his head. 

It's been years since he did this, but his body knows the path too well. It takes over and he's free to think about what she said about the Argents.

Allison. Her dad. Her mom. He tries picturing himself standing over their bodies. He tries picturing Julia there. 

He can't. 

His mom was talking about the complete extermination of an entire family. Every Argent out there dead. 

Allison among them. 

He doesn't mean to, but he pictures it anyway. It's there in his head before he can stop it. He sees Allison, her dad, and her mom. 

Dead.

His legs tangle beneath him and he starts to fall, but a hand on his shoulder yanks him back. He knows that it's Derek, even before he looks over his shoulder to meet a familiar, annoyed gaze. "Uh, thanks?"

Derek ignores the comment and sets him on his feet. "Taking up old habits?"

"The running or the falling?" Stiles asks, brushing himself off. "And not intentionally. I just—I needed to get out of the house for a while. Try and clear my head." He thinks it pretty obvious that it isn't working, if Derek didn't guess that from the attempted dive into the dirt. "It's going about as well as can be expected."

Derek nods. He looks up at the trees around them. "You didn't notice my approach."

"Out of practice," Stiles says, shrugging. "Next time I will." And he means it. He looks at Derek and wants to say 'Mom knew about Kate. She didn't know how or precisely who, but she thought it was an Argent and she was right.' "You're not supposed to know about us, are you?"

"No. There are a lot of packs out there that wouldn't see the difference between warden and hunter." Derek's expression doesn't even waver as he says, "They don't have much reason to, these days. Every human that knows about us who isn't pack—"

"Is usually trying to kill you." 

"Yeah." Derek starts moving, walking back in the direction of the house. It feels natural to follow, to fall into step with him, even though neither of them actually look up at it. "It's what we thought Julia was at first. My Dad told me about it one night. Peter watched her for a week, trying to figure out what family she belonged to, they were so sure that the hunters had found us." His voice goes soft as he says that and Stiles feels the weight of the past in it. "They were so relieved to be wrong. Especially when she told them the truth about how she knew."

"They thought it would keep them safe."

"Maybe. There've always been stories about people like the wardens out there. People who fought the hunters for us." Derek almost smiles. "I thought they were just fairy tales until Peter brought Julia home." 

"Fairy—" Stiles nearly trips again, trying to get his head around that one. "Sorry man, but I'd make a lousy Prince Charming." 

There is definitely a smile hidden behind the glare Derek gives him. "I never said they were about you."

"Hey, I was an apprentice warden," Stiles says, glaring right back. "It counts."

"Maybe," Derek shrugs, "but dressed like that? You're a little more Red Riding Hood than Prince Charming." He turns away, but Stiles thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's trying to hide a small smile. 

Looking down at his hoodie, Stiles can't really argue either. "Fair point, but if you're trying to cast yourself in the role of big, bad wolf, you can forget it right now. I know you way too well to believe that one."

He yelps when he's suddenly backed against a tree, Derek pressing tight against his front. "You sure about that one, Stiles?"

"Julia used to make you watch Mei, but you'd hide in the woods so Mei would think she was alone. You did that because you knew she wanted to feel grown up." Stiles jabs at Derek's shoulder. "Face it, Derek, you were—and are—a huge marshmallow." Which, uh, all things considered, is a hell of an assumption to be making, but Stiles thinks it's highly overdue. Skulking around in the woods isn't good for anybody, much less a guy who needs to be building a pack. "That, by the way, is actually pretty damn close to a compliment and probably the only one I'm ever going to give you so, you know, say thank you and step off." 

Derek raises his head, staring at Stiles who can't figure out the look on Derek's face. It's not angry, not scared, it's something that he can't put words to, but understands when he realizes. It takes a little time for his brain to put it together, but then it reminds him that he might be the only person alive who knows about that. 

"Or not," he says, speaking before he really thinks about it. "Do whatever, man. Really."

"No," Derek says, taking a step back. "...I haven't thought about that in a long time."

"You should." Stiles says. He looks at the path behind Derek. They should move, go, but this is probably the first time Derek's let himself think about them. He wishes he'd had a chance to talk to Laura to be sure, but he doubts she'd say he was wrong. "We both should."

*

He knows he should pick up the journal again and keep reading, but he doesn't. Can't: not after the last time. Everything keeps running through his head and he's not ready to add anything else to it. Not yet. Instead, he goes back to working on the greenhouse. Scott helps a lot, but sometimes Stiles just wants to be in there by himself.

Some nights, he doesn't actually do a single thing. He goes inside, sits down, and lets himself remember.

When he catches his father doing the same thing, he almost walks away. 

Almost.

"You could have told me that you knew," he says, hesitant. "Would've made things a lot easier."

His father looks back at him with a half smile. "You had to figure it out for yourself. Besides, I was hoping you'd come to me. Messing with the Hale pack's a good way to get dead, kid." 

Dad sounds completely calm. Completely calm, that is, if Stiles ignores the little hitch in his voice over the word dead. He swallows hard and looks at his shoes. "I know." He doesn't ask if his Dad knows just how much he was involved with Peter Hale's death. He has a feeling he already knows. "I just—most of it wasn't my secret to tell. It still isn't."

"No." Putting down his coffee cup, Dad runs a hand over one of the tables. He looks thoughtful. "Is he handling it?"

"Better than I would," Stiles says. "He'll get there, Dad, but I have no idea where 'there' is yet." 

His father nods. "Wish you could've known what this place was like before the fire. The town was different then. Argents have no idea what they did to this place that day." He shakes his head. "I think that was the first time I really understood your mom—watching the coroner bring out those bodies...the little ones. I'm the sheriff. Legally, I can't condone any of it, Stiles, but as a father?" He lays his palms flat against the table and lowers his head. It's a long, long time before he finally speaks. His voice is rough, like every word's a battle with his vocal chords and Stiles hurts to hear every word of it. "What happened at that house can _never_ happen again. Do you hear me?" 

Stiles nods. He can't do anything else. He doesn't dare. He just closes his eyes and nods again. 

He doesn't see his Dad move, but he hears it and feels it when he's hauled into a hug so fierce his ribs ache.

*

Dark's completely set in by the time they leave the shed. They don't talk much after that, a few words here and there, but they don't need to. Dad knows everything. He knows _everything_ and he's not okay with it, but he's not going to get in the way either.

Stiles doesn't know what he's going to do yet. He's not sure he dares ask himself that question, but he knows that it's coming. He has to make a call. Sooner or later something's going to happen with the Argents. He's not stupid enough to think this is over. Derek's still alive and he's an Alpha without a pack. That can't happen. An Alpha needs a pack and so does the town.

"You know you can talk to me about this right?" Dad says, getting a drink of water. He hands it to Stiles and then gets himself another. "Your mom and I worked that one out long before you were born. Just don't tell me anything I'll have to arrest you for. Which, actually, is probably a policy you and I should have anyway. Whatever you do, don't get caught and don't tell me about it. Seriously."

Stiles tries to smile, because his Dad's grinning, but he can't. Not with the guilt that's worming its way into his chest.

Dad seems to catch on and puts his glass down, reaching out to lay a hand on Stiles' shoulder and pull him closer. "Hey, no, kid, don't look at me like that. Your mother didn't ask me to do anything I wasn't willing to. Fact of the matter is, they don't write laws to deal with werewolves and hunters. Nobody planned for this kind of thing and we had to make do the best we could. Now, if there's a way we can take care of them that doesn't involve bloodshed and felonies, I'll do my damnedest to make sure it happens, but I know we're not always going to be that lucky." He tugs Stiles into his arms for another hug, murmuring, "I'm guessing we already haven't been." 

"Can't tell you," Stiles mutters into his father's shirt. "My dad told me not to." 

"Smart man, your dad." Dad pulls back and grins. "Handsome too." 

"And so modest," Stiles says. "It must be such a burden, being so flawless."

"Can't say," Dad shrugs. "Being so flawless means I can handle pretty much everything."

"Good," Stiles says, thinking of Derek again. "We're going to need that."

"You're anticipating trouble?" Just like that, the humor vanishes and there's a hint of the sheriff in his father's eyes. 

"Yeah. I've been reading some of Mom's books and she talks about the hunters trying to limit pack sizes." Stiles takes his water and sits down at the kitchen table, twisting the glass back and forth on its surface. "Derek's an Alpha now and he doesn't have a pack. He's going to need to recruit people."

"Which Chris Argent isn't going to take kindly to," Dad says, following. "Yeah, that'll be trouble. I remember your Mom talking about that. Population control. History major. You can guess what she made comparisons too."

"Yeah, I can, and that's what I'm worried about. Derek's an Alpha now. It's instinct to have a pack and, really, I don't think it's a bad thing. Some people think wiping out the local pack leaves a community unprotected." Stiles doesn't want to spring the Deaton thing on his dad right away. He knows he'll have to, especially if he decides the way he's been leaning, but not yet. "We probably should look at that. There's got to be some kind of statistics we can go on; unexplained deaths, animal attacks, that kind of thing, right?"

"There are," his father nods. "It'll take some doing not to raise any attention with the Argents, but I can poke around."

"The Argents?"

Dad smiles faintly. "Stiles, if you think they don't have people in the police force—"

He hadn't. Well, he hadn't _thought_ about it. He feels kind of stupid, really, in retrospect. Probably should have. "Wow, hadn't, actually. They must have people everywhere."

"Seems likely." Dad leans back in his chair, tapping his finger against his glass. "There's not a chance in hell that Chris Argent's business is one hundred percent above board. I have my suspicions and you can bet your ass the federal guys do too, but no one ever moves on them."

"No one?"

Dad shakes his head. "There's never been a single investigation that I can find." 

"Someone covering up."

"Multiple someones. You don't get that kind of protection from one guy in a field office."

Stiles runs a hand over his face, exhausted by the thought. "This is going to suck, isn't it?"

"Well, it isn't going to be easy. There's a reason your mother and her people were so damn secretive. They knew full well if they ever got caught, the legal system was going to come down on them hard, with every ounce of influence the Argents and their kind could muster. They still will." Dad sits up again, looking him square in the eye. "You need to be prepared for that, son. If you're going to do this., you'd better understand just what will happen if the hunters find out about you." 

"I'm on my own, I know," Stiles nods. "That's the way this works." 

"The hell you will be," Dad says with a scowl. "I'm your father, Stiles. There's no chance of me ever leaving you on your own with this, but there will be a point where I can't do much. I know they've got people on the police force in their pocket, but I don't know about the judiciary. I'd like to say they're all impartial, but I don't know. That's why we have to make sure it doesn't get to that point."

"Don't get caught," Stiles nods. "Got it."

"Not yet, you don't," Dad smiles, "but you'll get there."

*

_Some of the old hunting families know about us, watch for us, and will take action against us if they know who we are. It's for that reason that we never approach the packs we protect. Only a handful of wardens have known the wolves they protect. It tends to go badly when we get too close, for us and them._

_It's better to keep our distance, safer, but there's a trade-off there. Sometimes, that distance means the hunters get by us and things fall apart._

_One of them got by me. I don't who, but one of them did. My instincts say it was Kate Argent. I don't have any proof that she was responsible for the Hale fire, but I feel it's there to be found. The problem is the same as it's always been: I can't get out there and look. Your father can't find any connection between her presence in town and the pack._

_It shouldn't have happened. I've been trying to tell myself that being sick isn't the reason, but I'm not naive. If I had been healthy, the chances are good that I might have been able to do something about it. I might have known she was in town sooner and ran her off. I might have been there that day and stopped her._

_Fact of the matter is, Stiles, I blame myself for those deaths, but I don't just blame me. What I have been able to find out about Kate is this―she did not plan those fires alone. She was acting on someone else's instruction._

_I can guess who. The women of the Argent family are supposed to be the leaders. They're the ones who are supposed to set the course for the family, but often times, that doesn't happen and I don't think, in this case, that it did._

_Watch out for her father, Stiles. If that man comes to Beacon Hills―kill him. No questions asked.'_

Stiles grimaces. "Sure thing, Mom," he says, closing the book. "I'll just head right over to Scott's girlfriend's house and put a bullet in her grandpa's head. That should go over _great_." 

Sad thing is, it probably couldn't make it any worse.

*

Stiles goes looking for Derek, which turns out to be a lot easier than expected. He leaves the school, fumbling with his phone and debating whether or not wardens or apprentice wardens (or whatever the fuck he's supposed to be) can just call up the local Alpha and chat about shit when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Sloppy, Derek," he says, cheerful, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "I totally saw that one."

"You were supposed to."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles waves a hand, "Whatever. Still knew you were there." He throws his bag into the jeep and turns around. "So, yeah, was looking for you anyway. Mom—she was on to the whole Kate thing."

Something flickers through Derek's eyes. Guilt? It's weird. Stiles doesn't question it. Not right now, anyway. He's got bigger fish to fry. "She was too sick to do any real investigating then, but she doesn't think Kate planned the fire."

"Gerard Argent." 

"Met him, huh?"

"In passing." 

"Ahh, right, the whole cutting a guy in half thing. Scott mentioned it." Stiles grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. "Trying not to think about that, actually." He's not sure what to do about that. His Mom's writing hasn't mentioned the omegas yet and he's definitely not up to investigating a murder. "You know, it's kind of funny. There was a day that I would've been all over this."

"It's different when it's your responsibility." 

Stiles nods. "Yeah, it is. So, um, do you think you could maybe call Julia? I don't think I want to go to Deaton about this."

"This being—"

"My mom left books for me. The stuff she didn't have time to teach me." Stiles leans back against the jeep, arms across his chest and his eyes on the ground. "I've been reading for a while and over and over, she keeps saying she doesn't want to push me into anything. She wanted it to be my choice. My call."

"But?"

"Second she mentions Gerard Argent? It's simple. Kill him. If he shows his face in Beacon Hills, I'm supposed to but a bullet into it. No questions asked." Stiles looks up then, risking a glance at Derek's face. He's surprised by the expression he finds there. Surprised, confused, and a bunch of things which he doesn't have it in him to question right now. "Gerard scared her. Mom didn't scare easy. You're supposed to be building a pack right now and he's not going to let you. Not without a fight." 

"And you think I'm not in any position to give him one?" 

"Unless you're hiding a few dozen pack members in the trunk of the Camaro? It's not me thinking it—it's me _knowing_. Gerard's an Argent. He's got resources and people all over the country ready to run to the call. No way you can match that right now." 

Derek doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. Stiles can see it on his face. "Mom's books talk about Alphas having all kinds of advisers and support systems. You don't have any of that. Maybe we should be working on that before we go to war."

"War? I thought you were supposed to be impartial in all this?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not officially one of them yet." Stiles shrugs. "That's what talking to Julia is supposed to decide."

"I'll call her," Derek says, quiet. "Truth is, I think I should have done it a long time ago." 

*

Whether Derek does, or doesn't, Stiles doesn't ask. He doesn't want to. Truth of it being, of course, he doesn't know yet where he fits into all this. He knows where he's supposed to be and what he's been raised to do. 

He knows the choice his mother made and he has an idea of what it might have made her into, but he can't see how that translates for him. 

And the worst part is he can't ask Scott. He wants to tell Scott, but he can't and that's the kicker. He can't say a word to his best friend, but the guy he halfway hates is totally in the know. He can talk to Derek about it because Derek knows. Julia spilled those beans and, sure, Stiles isn't officially in the club, but he might be and, truth is, he really doesn't want to drag Scott into this. 

And that's another thing he doesn't get yet. 

He doesn't know if he wants to keep Scott out of it because he's trying to protect Scott, or because he wants to protect his secret. It's fucked up and wrong, but he really, really likes the idea of keeping this all to himself. 

"You look like a man with something on his mind." 

"Just once, I'd like to get the drop on you for once," Stiles says, sheepish, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

"I've spent my life among people with preternatural senses, Stiles," Alan looks back at and grins. "Never gonna happen."

"Well, at least you're honest about it." Stiles pulls up a stool and sits down. "Derek's going to call Julia."

"Good," Alan says, taking a seat of his own. He's holding a bottle of mountain ash, rolling it back and forth between his palms. "But that's not the reason you're here."

"I have no idea what I'm supposed to do." Stiles looks at the bottle, watching the ash shift and slide as it moves. "I know what Mom wants me to do—sometimes, I think that I know what I want to do—" Like hearing Scott talking about the Allison's grandfather killing the omega and remembering what it felt like to throw Kate's crimes back in Chris Argent's face. He can do something about this. Human doesn't mean sidelines. He has a place in all this. He can _fight_. He can be the one protecting Scott for a change and—he blinks. "Oh." 

"It isn't easy, is it? Watching him go through that."

"No," Stiles agrees. "It isn't."

"That's always going to be one of the problems with the position you’re in. Warden or not, Stiles, you'll always be on the outside of their world. You can't know what it feels like to be in their shoes, with their strengths and their weaknesses, but you will know the feeling of fear and envy. Usually, you'll feel them both at once."

Which he has, in pretty much equal portions. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Can't cook a good lasagna to save my life." Alan grimaces. "Damn near set my kitchen on fire once, but that worked out." 

"Met a hot fireman?"

Alan nods. "Yes."

Stiles stops for a second and squints. "Wait, wasn't that the guy with the red hair and the shoulders?" 

"And a tattoo of Daffy Duck."

"I think I remember him coming to the house with you once." One of the few times his Dad hadn't taken off. "He and Dad made burg—wasn't he like the fire chief back then? I am officially impressed." 

"As well you should be," Alan says, putting the bottle behind him. "My life isn't wrapped up in in werewolves and cocker spaniels you know."

Stiles pictures Derek's reaction to that line and laughs so hard he almost falls off the stool. It rocks at a crazy angle before he catches himself with his elbows on the table. It's completely awkward and he has to fumble his way back up onto the stool, but no skull fractures are had so he's calling this one a win. "I know. I also know I should apologize for just disappearing like I did. I just couldn't face coming here."

"You don't have to apologize for that, Stiles," Alan sighs. "I would never expect you to. I always knew and I always understood. You were a child and a child can't make the kind of decision this means." 

"I'm not a child now," Stiles tries. It's tentative, cautious, but it's still enough that he can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him. 

"No, you're not." Alan leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks into Stiles' eyes. "But this is a huge decision, Stiles. You don't need to rush into it." 

"I don't know that I have a choice—at least about that. Gerard Argent's in town. I don't need my mother's books or Scott to tell me the guy's trouble. The look in his eyes? He's here to finish off the Hale pack and he's not going to stop there. He's going to kill every last one of them because of Kate." The last sentence is hard to get out. His throat is tight with tension and fear for them all. It's not right. None of this is and he is so fucking sick of the Argent party line. 

"Not just them, Stiles," Alan says. "Wardens put themselves between the hunters and the wolves. If you get involved in this, that means you'll be putting your life on the line. Gerard won't hesitate to go through you to get to them. Joining this is not a decision you make lightly. This has never, ever been a safe choice in life, but now? There are more hunters in the world than there are werewolves. The old families know that if they push their advantage before the wolves can recover, they can--"

"Wipe them out," Stiles says, hollow. "And it's open season on us."

"Effectively." Alan isn't exaggerating. Stiles recognizes the way they're sitting. They spent more than a few afternoons in his kitchen the same way, herbs surrounding them while they talked and talked. He doesn't really remember most of it, but it'll come back when he needs it to and that's the point. Alan doesn't tell him anything that isn't worth knowing, nothing Alan tells him ever goes away, and some things Alan tells him without ever saying a word.

Stiles sits up straight. "It's bad, isn't it? There's something coming and it's bad." 

"Bad would be putting a mild spin on it," Alan gets up. "Derek's pack will need to be much bigger than it is and, if you do this, you'll need everything that I can teach you if we have a chance in hell of protecting this town."

Stiles bites his lip, chews at it for as long as it takes for Alan to turn his back. "Then we'll need to get started now, won't we?"

Alan looks back with a small smile and tosses him the bottle of mountain ash. "We already have." 

Stiles hangs his head. "You know I hate when you pull that, right?"

"Put the ash away and sweep up, will you? The last thing we need—"

"—is another explosion. Yeah, yeah, I remember, but you were the one that told me to mix those two." Stiles gets up to do as told anyway because, wow, Mom had been pissed that time and it'd taken Dad three weeks to fix the kitchen and he still brings it up.

If he accidentally levels the vet's office, he's going to be hearing about it until the end of time. 

Or longer. His luck is just that crappy. 

" _Stiles_."

"Yeah, yeah, sweeping, all the sweeping, got it." He pauses, broom in hand, and grins. "So, I gotta ask, does Scott totally buy the Mr. Miyagi routine?"

"Nope," Alan doesn't turn his head, but he is absolutely smirking. Stiles can _hear_ it. "He gets Yoda."

Stiles doesn't want to know who Alan trots out for Derek. 

"No," Alan agrees, "You really don't, Stiles, and if you don't hurry up and sweep that floor, you just might find out."

*

Getting out of the jeep, Stiles looks up at the ruin of the Hale house and frowns. "Look, I know you've got the whole building a pack thing on your mind and all, but you should really think about this place first." 

Derek opens the door (and Stiles is always impressed when it doesn't fall off its hinges) to meet him. "I think about it all the time," he says, flat. "It's not something I can really do anything about."

Stiles comes to a stop before the steps and winces. "That, uh, really did not come out the way I'd planned it." He scratches the back of his head and tries to think of a good way to rephrase. There really isn't one so he shrugs and says, "I know you probably think of this place as some kind of memorial to your family, but ever think about how the Argents view it? Because they just walk in any time they want. They train here. They _use_ it. You might see it as a memorial, but I'm pretty sure they look at it like it's some kind of _trophy_."

That hits hard. He can almost see the impact. Derek looks at him, but doesn't really seem to see him. Stiles has an idea what he sees and just keeps right on talking. "Tear it down, Derek. Get rid of it and build something new. You're going to build a pack and don't tell me you aren't. You've already started. The Argents are going to try and stop you, once hunters identify a pack—"

"They try and limit the size." Derek focuses on him. "Got that part." 

Right. Stiles doesn't even bother trying to hide the flush of embarrassment. Derek got him on that one. He shrugs. "New information. I'm a sharer." He sits on the steps, hearing them creak in protest, and looks out at the trees. "Try this one on for size then. Know what happens when there isn't a strong pack in an area?"

"I can guess," Derek surprises him by sitting beside him. "I heard some stories growing up."

Stiles tries not to think about that, but can't help himself. He pictures Derek and Laura as kids, the way he remembers them, trying to scare each other with horror stories about the hunters. "And then the monsters turned out to be real, right?"

"Yes." 

Nodding once, Stiles rubs his hands together slowly. His skin's dry and he listens to the rasp with more attention than it deserves. He does it again and again before admitting, "When the pack dies, it's open season on everything else. They're fucking with the natural order of things, Derek, like some kind of supernatural oil spill. Everything turns toxic and people start dying. I'm guessing the only reason it took so long here is—"

"Peter."

"Maybe? I don't know how it works. We're still trying to figure it out, but maybe as long as a member of the pack is still alive, it keeps the claim on the land alive too. I don't know. I'll need time to work that part out and I am so making this shit up, I can't even tell you how much—" he looks at Derek finally. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do next."

Derek's eyebrows creep upward. It's kind of a poetic moment. Seriously, marching to freedom or his hairline and probably singing to themselves on the way. (Stiles has _opinions_ on Derek's eyebrows) "And you think I'm going to tell you?"

Stiles can't stop the snort of laughter and can't even apologize when Derek looks a little wounded. "Not to say you aren't terrifying as fuck when you want to be, but seriously? No. Not even a little bit. You're skulking around the woods and hanging out with a bunch of teenagers. If you have any idea what we're supposed to do next, then you're doing one hell of a job hiding it." 

"You know, there are days I honestly wonder why no one's killed you yet," Derek muses. 

"My sparkling wit? Dashing good looks?" Stiles thinks about that one for a second and shrugs. "Yeah, I've got no idea either. Must be something."

He doesn't know he said that has Derek looking at him the way he is, but Stiles feels more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. He finally gets up. "Come on, let's go for a run. I might not know what I'm supposed to do with all of this, but I'm working on the training again. I could use a running partner. Preferably one with preternatural athleticism."

"Scott busy?"

"Scott's not supposed to know." Stiles shrugs. "First rule of Fight Club. You're already in the know so you're safe."

"Thanks," Derek says, dry. "Really."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Like you wouldn't be doing the same thing if the shoe were on the other foot."

Derek considers that then gets up. "Point. So, you can't tell Scott?"

"Well, technically I could. I'm not an official part of the wardens yet so I'm not bound by their rules, but—he's got enough on his shoulders right now." Stiles shifts from one foot to the other. "Plus there's that thing where I've been lying to him for as long as either of us can remember."

"You didn't know, Stiles," Derek says, but he looks kind of, well, sympathetic? It's creepy and all the creepier for the fact Stiles feels better about it. "You're not responsible if your parents never told you."

"Maybe not," Stiles says, "but I don't think Scott'll see it that way. Besides—"

Derek nods. "I know."

And that's the weirdest part. He can tell Derek _does_.

*

The running with Derek becomes a thing. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't, and sometimes they never actually get to running. Sometimes they drive out of town to a diner on the interstate and actually, seriously talk about rebuilding the house.

"Money's not really a problem," Derek says, one day. They're leaning over plans he's been working on. A skill leftover from the days when he was working in his mom's construction company, watching his parents design homes for humans and werewolves alike. "The insurance—it's just sitting there. I think they'd probably like it if I used it for this."

"I think your mom would smack you in the head for not using it at all." Stiles looks at him. "Seriously, where the hell have you been sleeping all this time?"

Derek doesn't answer and, somehow, not knowing makes it _worse_. 

"Never tell me," Stiles decides, taking the pencil away from him. "I mean it. If you tell me, I'll be contractually bound to do something about it and the tendency to seriously overprotect is a Stilinski family trait. I will be forced to tell Dad and he'll be forced to 'do something' about it and there is no way I am becoming a Lifetime movie heroine who brings the hero home and lets him sleep on her couch in exchange for help opening jars."

Derek's eyebrows are doing their thing again and Stiles grimaces.

"I kind of jumped tracks there, didn't I?"

"Derailed completely, actually," Derek deadpans. "Probably should look into that."

"Nah." Stiles taps the pencil against the notepad. "He knows. About everything."

"I know," Derek takes the pencil back, making a change on the second floor. "He used to come to the house with my parents sometimes. Pack business mostly, but they played pool sometimes." He actually smiles. "Your dad taught me some trick shots."

Stiles blinks. "Really?"

As soon as he says it, he realizes this is Derek he's talking to and Derek is kind of the sassiest werewolf to ever sass. Most of the time, he kind of wants to lock Derek and Harris in a room together and see how long it would take before Harris' head exploded. He's sure it wouldn't take long at all and, probably, would be fucking gorgeous.

Today, though, he just nods. "He tried to talk Julia into staying. We almost did, but we just couldn't." Derek clears his throat and looks away. "Laura said he was relieved when she came back into town. He was worried about us."

Stiles closes his eyes. He can forget, some of the time, that Laura's gone. If he can't really _forget_ , then he can at least push it back in his head. Back where the hurt from losing Mom still festers and it's not the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works.

Except right now it doesn't.

Laura's gone and his Dad had to see her body and _know_.

Stiles pushes his head into his hands. "I fucking hate hunters."

He doesn't know what he's going to do with all this, but he's damn well sure of one thing.

He isn't going to walk away.

*

As annoying as it is, being Scott and Allison's go-between has been, Stiles wasn't prepared for how weird it was going to feel. Because, yes, it is _weird_. Up until now, Allison's been sort of an idea in his head. Lydia's best friend. Scott's _everything_ (which is all caps and sparkly in Stiles' head and possibly underlined with scented pen for emphasis). She hasn't really been anything to him personally.

He's not sure how to take it when she starts to actually talk to him and not just to pass messages to Scott. It's not that big a deal, really, except for the part where he feels completely and totally awful about it. 

She drops down next to him in history, phone in hand, chewing her lip like something's bugging her and he's supposed to ask. 

Yeah. He's got a handle on the non-verbal cues now. On the weird-o-meter, it's gone from 'mildly concerning' to 'folks are gonna talk'. It's kind of on par for his life now, but still, Stiles feels horrible and he knows why.

She's looking for a friend and that's the last thing he's supposed to be. The last thing that he is. 

The lowest circle of hell will totally not be enough. Satan's going to have to put in a subbasement. 

"So, uh, you okay?"

Allison looks at her phone, then at him and pushes the phone into her pocket. "Not really. It's this whole situation with my grandfather and everything else. It's just really freaking me out. I think they're going after what's left of the pack and Dad's got me watching Lydia--" she shakes her head. "It's _wrong_."

And she doesn't even know the half of it. Stiles opens his text book, keeping an eye on the teacher as she turns to face the board. "Yeah, well, if I were you, I'd remember that feeling when Grandpa starts cozying up."

It says a lot that she looks confused, but it doesn't really surprise him. The only person that's had a weirder year than Scott is Allison. Her best friend got bit by an Alpha and is probably immune, her boyfriend turns out to be a werewolf, and, oh yeah, she comes from a family of werewolf hunters and her aunt's kind of a mass murderer.

And that's without adding in the part that her boyfriend's best friend might have to execute her grandfather.

Stiles shakes his head and digs in his backpack for a highlighter. If they gave out prizes for towns with the most fucked up families, Beacon Hills would win every time. "You haven't wondered what he's doing here now?"

"It's about Kate. He wants to make them pay."

"Yeah, but what are the chances that's all it is?" Stiles sits up, uncapping the highlighter. "I mean you said you don't really know him right?"

Allison nods. "He's always sent money at Christmas and birthdays, but nothing much more than that." She opens her textbook to mirror him. "I guess with all the moving around, it's just been easier to do that."

"Or your parents didn't want you talking to him." 

"But why? He's here now. They're letting him stay in the house with them. They're working with him. If they didn't want me anywhere near him, they wouldn't be doing this." 

"They don't really have a choice now," Stiles points out. "Everyone knows what happened to Kate." He's willing to bet Grandpa made _sure_ everyone knows about it. He makes a mental note to ask Alan about it. There's got to be a way to find out what's got people clustering around the hunter water coolers lately. "Like if the Argents don't pull together and go after the bastards that did it, the other hunters will start asking questions or something."

"But why would my parents want to keep me away from my grandfather?" Allison makes a show of smiling at the teacher and turning a page for Stiles. The teacher smiles back and moves on without even so much as hesitating. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe not, but you just found out the family secret like five minutes ago. Stands to reason there's a lot more going on than just that. How old was Kate when the fire happened? What are the chances she planned it alone?" It makes sense. Especially with what his Mom's said in her journals and it fits in his head. "Don't trust him, Allison. Your mom is like the scariest person on the planet and if _she_ doesn't want you anywhere near your grandfather, I'm thinking you should probably find out why." 

God, he feels awful. He shakes his head and leans over. "Allison, you're the only one who can make the call here. It's your family and your life; you get to decide what to do with it--"

"But it's not just my life, right?" she asks. "Daughters are raised to be leaders and if I choose to do this, I'll be the person deciding who lives and who dies."

"Yeah, exactly, and what happens if you make the wrong call because your grandfather wants you to? I grew up here, Allison. I _knew_ some of the kids in that house and aside from the occasional chocolate chip cookie? They weren't a threat to _anyone_." 

Allison looks stricken. "You never said that before." 

"I don't want to be saying it now," Stiles shrugs. "Mei deserved better than to be a glorified guilt trip."

"Mei?"

Stiles pulls back, looking down at his book. "She was Peter's youngest daughter. Her mom, Julia, was like my mother's best friend. She's human." 

"Is.." Allison's eyes widen. "She survived the fire?"

"She wasn't in it. She was out of town." Stiles thinks about Derek calling her. About her coming back to town. He feels even guiltier. "You might want to think about that for a while because with Derek here? He's the only family she has left." 

"And she might—" Allison presses her lips together, her shoulders hunching forward as she looks down at her book. Stiles has an idea what she must be feeling. At least, maybe in part. He's still not sure he can wrap his head around the part where there are families out there grieving lives his mother took. That maybe, some day, there will be families grieving lives that he's going to take. "Stiles, she's going come back here and find out that Derek killed her husband."

"No, Kate did. Trust me, the guy you met? Not the Peter I remember. That Peter died when his kids did." And it's probably a relief that the Peter who walked out of the hospital is dead too. 

It's going to be bad enough when Julia finds out what happened to Laura. Having to look Peter in the eye would probably be too much to bear.

"Don't trust him, Allison," he pleads, feeling miserable. "Just don't." 

She lays a hand on his for a second then pulls back. It isn't much, but he's gotta hope. 

*

"You look like a man with a problem." 

Stiles looks up at his father. "That's an understatement. You saw Allison's grandfather at the funeral, right?"

"Hard to miss." Dad takes off his coat, takes off his holster and gun then goes to lock it up. When he comes back, he's rolling up his sleeves. "Let me guess, he's in the family business too?"

"Oh yeah," Stiles nods. "I think he might've been in on the fire with Kate."

"Makes sense." Dad sits down in front of him. "It's not that hard to burn a building down, but the cover up? That was some delicate work. From what I've found out about Kate since then, I don't think she was stable enough at the time to do pull it off. You're worried about what he might do?"

"Worse. I'm worried about what he might get Allison to do. I don't want to end up with her on the wrong side of a gun, Dad. Especially not if I'm the one holding it." Stiles leans back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know if I can do this, Dad, but I don't think I have a choice."

"Everyone has a choice, Stiles, the question is what your conscience will let you live with."

"Allison thinks I'm her friend," Stiles sighs. "I sat there, listening to her talk about her grandfather, and pretty much everything I said back? I was thinking about what would happen if she makes the wrong call and ends up like Kate. Maybe I'm already too close to things."

"Or maybe you're where you're supposed to be, son. You care about people on both sides. We try to be as impartial as we can be in our lives, but no one ever is. Not truly. We all have our little biases whether we want them or not. Maybe the trick is to be equally compromised." 

Stiles turns his head to look at his father. "You're completely pulling this out of your ass, aren't you?"

"Absolutely." Dad grins. "That's how parenthood works, kid. Make it up, make it look good, and hope like hell you got it right." His grin softens. "And pretty sure your Mom and I did. I know I've never been good with this stuff, Stiles, but you have no idea how proud I am of how you're handling this. No idea."

Stiles stares at him. "Dad, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Could've fooled me." Dad pats him on the arm. "You're asking questions and you're thinking about it. I don't think there's a better way to go about this. Now get up. It's your turn to cook dinner and I am not smelling a single foul odour so, clearly, you haven't started yet."

"Foul? My cooking is not foul." Stiles hops up, ready to defend his culinary skills, but Dad's already halfway up the stairs, shoulders shaking as he goes. "Oh, really? That's how we're doing this? Fine. THERE WILL BE SPINACH!" 

So much spinach. 

*

Dinner is truly a thing of vegetarian beauty. Stiles pulls out all the stops and grins maniacally at his father's grimace from beginning to end. Even washes the dishes without complaint. 

It's kind of embarrassing just how much glee he takes in the whole thing. He's still grinning when he sneaks downstairs that night for a glass of milk. 

Half asleep, he shuffles into the kitchen on autopilot. Navigating the furniture in the dark is easy and he calls it a victory that he doesn't stub his toe once on his way to the fridge. 

And since the universe hates him and wants him to be terrified and miserable, Stiles opens the door and promptly yelps. 

"Sorry," Julia says, not even looking a little bit embarrassed. 

He gapes at her, aware that he's probably supposed to be relieved that he didn't scream like a baby, but he still wants to. Still might. Either way, he is totally not saving himself any points here whatsoever. 

"I am dreaming, right?" he manages, letting the door slide closed. "You aren't actually here."

"Nope, I am." Julia raises her hands and turns in a slow circle. "Totally in the flesh." Which, yeah, okay, he isn't dreaming. Julia Hale really is standing in his kitchen in a denim jacket and a long skirt, smiling sheepishly. Like, seriously, she might even be blushing. "I wanted to warn you, but my phone died badly and, uh, it was just easier."

"You were avoiding me."

"Pretty much." Julia sighs. "I seem to be doing that a lot."

Stiles goes to turn on the lights. When he turns around, he gets a good look at her. He'd be lying if he said she hadn't changed. Six years and too many funerals would age anyone, but it's mostly in her eyes. 

He looks into her eyes and he sees all of it staring right back at him. 

"Did Derek—"

Julia nods. "I know about Peter. I know what he did and I know what Derek had to do." 

"I'm sorry." It's not enough, but there's never going to be anything he can say that will be. No magic words that will turn back the clock and give her back her husband and her children. Nothing that will put walls back up and flesh back on bone. "I wish there was something—"

"There wasn't, Stiles," Julia says, smiling at him. It's weak and pained and, somehow, that hurts more than tears ever would. "I should have stayed. Maybe if I had—I don't know. Maybe if I'd stayed with Derek and Laura, I might have stood a chance of reaching him."

"No," Stiles says. "I know you want to believe it, but I don't think you could have. I don't think he was in there to reach. The only thing that was left was hate. He was going to kill Allison just because she was an Argent. He killed _Laura_. That's not Peter."

Julia turns away and he makes a production of opening the fridge again. The clinking of bottles isn't much cover for her tears, but it's the best he can do. 

When he pulls out leftovers from dinner, she's standing there with mostly dry eyes. Mostly, but teary-eyed late night snacks are practically a Stilinski family tradition. 

"Hungry?"

Julia takes in the food in his hands with a dubious expression. "What the hell is that?"

"My Dad's cholesterol thanking me." Stiles moves past her to put it on the table. "Which it will."

"Yes, but will it defend you when his taste buds show up to exact bloody vengeance?" Julia goes to the fridge, opening it up to dig around some more. "Really, Stiles, this is horrifying."

"Just because you hang out with a bunch of unrepentant carnivores does not give you the right to ignore your vitamins." Stiles comes back to the fridge and grabs a beer for her. "You probably need one of these."

"If I have a hope in hell of sleeping tonight I might," she says, grimacing. "I'm hyped up on a lot of coffee right now. Are you sure your dad won't mind?"

"Nope. He'll just be glad that you're here. Ever since I found out the truth, I think he's been hoping you might show up again. He can't help without crossing a lot of lines and there's only so much that Deaton can do—"

"Don't be so sure about that one. I never did really understand Alan." She looks thoughtful. "But I do know that Derek's parents relied on his advice as much as your mother and I did." 

"So something going on there too, huh? Is there anything in this town that's exactly what it's supposed to be?"

"Nope. It used to be one of the fun parts." 

Stiles smiles, then takes a second before asking, "What happened? After? I know you took Derek and Laura out of here, but Derek thought you were looking into the fire."

"I was," Julia nods. "I needed to know what the hell happened. The pack was peaceful, quiet, and had been for a long time. We're talking generations of peace. There was no reason for a hunter to come to town; no bodies, no unexplained disappearances, nothing that would put them on anyone's radar." She looks morose. "I forgot about the history between the Hales and the Argents. I thought it had died out generations ago, but I was wrong." 

"There's history there?"

"Blood feud. The Hales are descended from la bete du Gévaudan and the Argents were among the hunters that killed him and his pack. It was supposed to die there, but it didn't." Julia shakes her head. "Not as long as Kate and Gerard are still breathing." 

"Kate's gone." 

"Yes, but Gerard isn't and Chris has a daughter." 

"And you think he's going to get Allison to finish the job?" 

"God, I hope not," Julia reaches for the beer, but doesn't open it. Instead, she picks at the label. "It took me years to track down Kate. She kept moving after the fire. I think she knew someone would come after her."

"You're the reason she came back here, aren't you?" Stiles kind of likes the idea of that. "You didn't give her a minute's peace."

"She didn't deserve any." Julia puts the bottle down and looks at him. Her eyes are hard when she speaks. "I buried my children. I might as well have buried my husband. She killed everyone for _nothing_. Peace was the last thing she deserved." 

"But you didn't kill her."

"No, I couldn't. I hated her. I hated all of them. I don't dare let myself back into the business, Stiles. I wouldn't be doing it for the reasons I was raised to. I want them dead. I want them _all_ dead and that is not the mindset we work from. We aren't murderers, Stiles." 

"You chased Kate Argent across the country," Stiles points out. "You don't think, eventually, making her suffer wouldn't have been enough?"

"I don't know," Julia sighs. "I don't. That's why I can't get involved. I'll help you, but that's all I can do. There are lines, Stiles, and I know that I'd cross them if I gave myself the chance." 

He thinks of his mother's journal and the tight, too-neat writing that came with the entries after a 'sentencing' and tries to picture the woman in front of him gunning down one of the Argents.

Allison. 

Stiles swallows against the urge to vomit. God, he might have to― _Allison_. He's still not okay with it. No matter how many times he thinks about it. "So that's the difference between us and murder?"

"Yes." Julia's lips curve into a rueful smile. She looks like he just corrected her grammar and not called her a murderer. "In the eyes of the civilian authorities, yes, we are considered murderers, but you know now that human law is not the only law. When humans enter werewolf society, when we make ourselves a presence in their world, we become subject to their laws as they are ours."

Stiles thinks of Derek bending over Peter, the claws coming out, and closes his eyes. "Which is why Derek—"

"Yes," Julia says, her face pale. So much so that he's on the verge of apologizing (seriously, she looks like he punched her or something) when she says, "He didn't have a choice. Peter took lives without sanction and nearly murdered an innocent girl. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not being here for that. They feel things on a level you and I can't really fathom. It's why Peter did the things he did. He heard the deaths of his family, _felt_ them, and internalized them in a way that even the flames couldn't match. When a werewolf feels something on that level―the damage is _severe_. Derek is the last member of the pack. He needed to make it right. He can't restore the dead any more than Chris Argent can, but taking Peter's life was the closest he could come." 

"Reason over instinct." 

Stiles doesn't even realize that he's spoken until she nods. "Yes, precisely. Instinct demanded as much of Derek as it did Peter. He had to choose between protecting a pack member and protecting all of us."

"And all he had to do was kill his uncle." 

"It never should have happened. He shouldn't have been put into that position, but there's no going back now." 

"That's why we exist, Stiles. The wardens were born out of the desire to prevent that." Julia summons up a ghost of the smile Stiles remembers. "Your mother was one of the best of us." 

"I can't imagine her killing people."

"Have you seen the house?" 

"I've seen the outside. I haven't been able to go in there yet. I'm not sure that I can." 

"When you do," Julia looks somber, "You'll understand then." 

"This wasn't the first time something like this happened? Mom saw things like this too?"

"Never on this scale, but yes, unfortunately. She saw some horrific things over the years. See enough and even the greatest of pacifists will reach for a blade." Julia picks at the bottle again, sadness filling her face. "They murder children and then they tell themselves they're protecting the innocent."

"Isn't that what you tell yourself?" 

She smiles. "Now you're beginning to understand. There are no white hats in our business, Stiles. Not  
even us." 

*

Julia takes the couch when he goes to bed, taking the extra blankets he brings her with a grateful smile. She's gone before he gets up. No sign of her presence anywhere in the house, but he has an idea where she is. 

He doesn't go out there. Not yet. They need time and they don't need him stomping all over things. They'll find him when they're ready. 

*

Chris Argent finds him first. Or not. It's not like Allison's dad is out searching the town over for him (considering all the time he's been spending out at the Hale property, Stiles really, really hopes not). It's just an unhappy coincidence that they shop at the same grocery store. Also a side effect of living in a smallish town the size of Beacon Hills. There just aren't that many places to choose from.

Stiles tries avoiding him, but there's only so many aisles and so much stuff to duck behind before the inevitable happens. 

They meet up in the produce section, trapped in the same place by two old ladies arguing over asparagus. 

Seriously. Who argues about _asparagus_?

"Stiles."

"Chris." 

There was a day, not that long ago actually, that he might have tried for a bit more respect than that. Even after everything with Kate, he might have tried, but not now. Not knowing what he does and not suspecting what he does.

Stiles looks at Allison's father and resists the urge to ask, 'are you really stupid enough to think anyone believes you didn't know?' 

Holding it in is harder than he expected it would be. It's bugging him now and has been since he started really poking around in his mother's journals. 

Chris is a hunter. He grew up with the same kinds of training Stiles did, probably worse, and he still missed the obvious? Even if Stiles gives him the fire, pretends he can't see the obvious, there's still the cover up. There's no way that Chris could have missed it.

Not unless he wanted to.

Which is the part really pissing Stiles off. Chris didn't know because Chris didn't want to know. Maybe he didn't set the Hale house on fire, but he certainly didn't go out of his way to stop it either. 

Furious all over again, Stiles turns his back to check his shopping list. Stewed tomatoes. Right. Three aisles over. 

He starts looking for a way past the old ladies. 

"Allow me," Chris says, backing his cart up. "There's a display over there."

"Talented reading upside down?"

"It's come in handy." Chris tries to smile like everything's normal, but that's the problem. Neither of them has ever known 'normal' like everyone else around them might try defining it. Their normal is just that little bit _wrong_. 

Stiles is good at rolling with the punches, better at pretending everything's perfect, but not right now. 

He wonders what would happen to Chris' smile if Julia were to walk in right now. Stiles almost wishes she would. He wants to see Chris try and justify his precious Code to _her_. 

"Stiles."

He tries pushing by, but Chris lays a hand on his cart and stops him where he is. "I've been wanting to say this for a while. It just didn't seem to be the right time. You were right about Kate." 

Stiles shrugs. He wants to keep moving, but he wants to see where this is going.

"She was responsible for what happened to the Hales. She crossed a line. It won't happen again, I can assure you of that." Chris squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, like he's just made some kind of magnanimous gesture. Like it _matters_ and it isn't complete bullshit.

"Already has." Stiles steps forward, feeling his anger creeping around the edges of his control. "I guess you forget that Scott's my best friend. Friends, well, they tell each other everything. They talk to each other about things they can't talk to their girlfriends about. Say, like how her dad put a gun in her boyfriend's face for _making out with her_. Don't remember that one being in the Code, Chris, but you know, the more I think about it, the more I think I should probably tell my Dad." He smiles a little. It's a little too much tooth and a whole lot too much 'fuck you' to be anything but what it is. "Cause I really want to see you weasel your way out of that one." 

He's pretty sure that Chris has no idea his father's in the know. It's too bad, that'd make everything so much sweeter, but Stiles can still enjoy the way Chris pales beneath his tan. " _Stiles_."

"Don't even bother. We both know you don't care about the Code, but since we're pretending you do, let's pretend that we just had a big conversation about first steps and slippery slopes. I have a great monologue in there about personal responsibility and actually protecting people instead of murdering their children. It's one for the ages, I promise. Thing is, I don't really care what you tell yourself." 

He wants to say it. It's right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, and he can already hear himself smugly saying there _are_ wardens and Kate didn't come back to town because of Peter. She came back because Julia was nipping at her heels and Julia's here and so is Stiles and they're just waiting to see what Gerard does next. 

Because he is going to do something and it's probably going to be the kind of something that gets the entire Argent line wiped off the face of the earth and that's what kills the words while they're still unspoken. 

He doesn't want that to happen. He wants Gerard gone. He wants Chris to keep to the Code. 

He doesn't want Allison dead. 

Stiles doesn't say anything else. He walks away. 

* 

He goes running. There's no one around, but that doesn't mean a thing. That's the reassuring part about running in these woods, playing in these woods, he's always known he wasn't alone.

Derek falls into step before long, matching his pace to Stiles. They run for a while, easy and comfortable, and it's more than just familiar. It's _good_. It's a touchstone and Stiles can feel the tension of the confrontation with Chris fading away with every single step. 

This, he thinks, is how it would be if none of this had ever happened. If the Argents hadn't brought their vendetta to town, if Kate hadn't targeted Derek, if Derek's family hadn't noticed the sudden change in their son, if Stiles' mom hadn't gotten sick and missed the hunter circling the wolves.

If.

And maybe it wouldn't have been, but he doesn't want to think about that. Thinking about that makes his step falter, his heart clench, and has Derek looking at him with something that might be concern.

Stiles just keeps running, trying not to give away the thoughts tumbling in his head. They circle back toward the house and he can see Julia on the front steps, staring up at the sky.

She looks at him and he has a feeling she can see the understanding in his eyes. It's confirmed when she looks from him to Derek and back again, her expression lightening just a little.

Enough that he wants to tell her no. It's not that, it's not how it is, but he can't. He tells himself it's because she deserves at least one good thing, but he knows he's lying. 

He's never been that selfless. 

*

Julia doesn't ask the question that day, but Stiles knows that it's coming. He can feel it in the air. Sees it in the way she watches them every time he comes over and she puts him through his paces. The training gets worse with each day and he can feel it. She's testing him out, weighing him on some invisible scale and against a measurement he can't see.

He hates it, chafes under the constant scrutiny, but he doesn't ask. Not yet. Every time he thinks that he might, he sees Julia's eyes and the thread of fear running through her smile. 

Besides, there are plenty of other questions to be asking right now. Enough that he's almost surprised when, one night after she's done her best to kill him, she sits down beside him and says, "You're in love with my nephew."

Sneaky, sneaky woman. "I believe you were supposed to put that in the form of a question," Stiles says, only grumbling a little. 

"Why? So you can think of a creative way to deny it?" 

Yeah, pretty much. "No," he says, lying all the way. "I can't love Derek. I don't even _like_ Derek. He's like the perfect definition of complete dick."

Julia grins. "And what does that have to do with anything? I hated Peter. Smug, stubborn, and I couldn't believe I was supposed to be protecting his ass." 

"Until you caught yourself staring at it, right?"

"Oh, God no. We both know you can admire a perfectly good ass without liking the person it comes attached to." 

Stiles feels his cheeks heat, but he pushes through to say, "You really didn't like Peter?"

"Nope, not at first, but you like Derek." She leans closer, bumping her shoulder against his. "No crime in admitting it, but there's no crime in keeping it to yourself either. I'm just enjoying the idea. It's been a long time since any of us has had good news and that definitely counts."

He bites his lip, staring out the trees. Daylight's long gone, but that doesn't mean anything. They'd be training in a blizzard if she could get him one. 

Julia stands easily and he groans, falling back. "You know, if you kill me, I can't tell you anything, right?" 

She laughs and holds out a hand to help him up. "I'm not going to kill you, kiddo. I'm just going to let you feel like it. The hunters train to keep up with the wolves. You have to keep up with them if you're going to know what they're doing."

"They use ATVs.

"So will you. Cameras work too." 

"You want to put cameras in the forest?" Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Really?" 

"It's an idea. The wardens have always been at the forefront of technology's advancements, Stiles. We're at a disadvantage in terms of numbers and powers, so we make it up where we can." Julia looks at him with approving eyes. "I have a feeling you'll do just fine in that area, so we're focusing on the old school."

"Okay, so we focus on the old school," he lets her pull him up, saying, "just don't expect me to be happy about it."

Julia grins. "Big baby." 

He follows her into the woods again, off the path, dodging through trees and over logs. "Just for the record," he pants, catching up with her, "If I _were_ to admit something, it would be good news?"

She stops mid-stride and looks at him. "Kiddo, it would be the best news I've had in six years." 

That kind of rocks him back a little. Way more than he'd expected. It's just the way she stops, freezes really, and looks at him like this is the most important answer she'll ever give. He must look as shocked as he feels because Julia smiles a small, little smile and reaches over to squeeze his shoulder before she takes off running again.

It's a long while before he follows. She's out of sight before he packs away emotions he's not sure he understands enough that he thinks he can move without tripping over his own feet.

Doesn't matter. He still falls flat on his face anyway.

"Which isn't a sign at all," he mutters, but gets up anyway. 

By the time he gets back to the house, Julia's long gone. She's left a towel, a bottle of water, and a bottle of aspirin and Stiles is totally going to kill her later. Absolutely. 

He's going to have to bend over to pick that shit up and he's pretty sure his spine is going to do its best to jump out of his body. It's a possibility that he's still pondering when Derek's car pulls up to the house. 

"Your aunt is a sadist," Stiles groans, refusing to look over his shoulder. He knows Derek is grinning and enjoying every single second of his misery. Which, for the record, is a _lot_.

With a groan, he eases down on the front steps and feels every part of his body protest the movement when he does. The worst part is the knowledge that, yep, if it hurts this bad now, he's going to want to kill someone (Julia) in the morning. Like, serious, murder one levels of homicide and nobody will even think of blaming him. 

Right now, though, he looks up to see Derek actually trying not to laugh. There's a real, genuine smile on his face, not much of one but it's still definitely a _smile_ and that is totally better than morphine. "What?" he grumbles, just to keep up appearances. Like he's not relaxing more and more with every second that smile stays on Derek's face.

"You look ridiculous." 

"Yeah, yeah, you say that now. Wait until she's putting you through your paces. No way that woman can't make a wolf suffer just as bad as a human." Stiles watches the way Derek grimaces and crows with laughter. "Oh, she already _has_. Did she make you run laps? Fifty times around the property with your eyes closed?"

"Something like that," Derek says, sitting down beside him.

"It's good, though, isn't it?" Stiles asks, quiet. "Having someone around." He thinks of what it would be like if his dad weren't here. If it was just him, alone. Even the thought of it stabs through him like a knife's blade. 

Derek glances over, like he's heard the change in Stiles' heart, but he doesn't say anything. Just nods. 

"Think she'll be able to help with the alpha thing? She must know something about it, right?" He hasn't really come across anything in his mother's journals yet, but he's just getting started with reading them. It's in there somewhere. 

"She remembers a lot, but most of it won't be useful until the pack's more established." 

By the look on Derek's face, that's not one hundred percent the truth, but there's probably a lot that he can't say yet. More that he won't. 

Stiles isn't going to push. If he wants to know, he can look it up. Most everything Julia knows is probably in his mother's records too. 

Content to let sleeping werewolves lie, Stiles nods. "So, bite anyone interesting lately?"

The look Derek turns on him is so comical that Stiles can't help laughing until his ribs swear bloody vengeance. Because, yeah, _ow_. "I can't believe you just said that," Derek says, slow, but there's a little hint of a smile there again. 

"I can't believe you have actual facial expressions," Stiles says, surprising them both with the answer. "You probably should try that more if you're going to build an actual pack. Nobody wants an asshole running the show."

Derek blinks. "Don't hold back, Stiles," he says, finally. "Tell me how you really feel."

Stiles shrugs. "That's a dangerous question to answer."

He means it to come across as sarcasm, knows that Derek hears it that way, but Derek still takes a moment. It's like he's thinking about it, which he proves a second later by saying, in all seriousness, "And if I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked."

Stiles holds his breath then blurts, "Well, there doesn't seem to be a single part of my body that doesn't hate your aunt right now, I'm confused, scared, and pretty sure I'm actually considering killing someone which is why I'm confused, scared, and totally freaked out, but―yeah, the rest you don't get to hear. The rest I don't even understand myself."

The rest, Stiles thinks, Derek can pick up in the way his heart is racing or scent in the air. Why did his emotions have to so damn stinky? 

"Does deception really smell acrid?" he asks, remembering something Peter said. Which, wow, really bad time to be bringing up the psychotic, dead uncle, but Derek should know what he'd be getting himself into. Stiles and his bad timing have been buds for a long, long time. It's kind of a lifelong friendship, really.

"A little. Did―"

"Yeah. Talked to her about him too, but I didn't tell her that part." 

"Might be a good idea," Derek agrees. "Not to, I mean. She has to live with enough now." His eyes are dark, somber, and Stiles wonders what else Julia doesn't know. What _he_ doesn't know. 

"So do you," he says, surprising himself again. "You don't have to, y'know. I am surprisingly adept at processing trauma."

Derek doesn't say anything. Stiles nods. "You know where to find me." He passes a hand over Derek's shoulder as he stands up to leave. It's enough.

Judging by the way Derek looks when Stiles sneaks a peek over his shoulder, it's manna from heaven. 

*

It's not a surprise that Allison and Julia come face to face. Stiles has been expecting it pretty much from the moment Derek mentioned her name and was without factoring in the amount of time Allison and Scott spend sneaking off into the woods together.

He'd thought about warning Scott, but explaining would have meant questions he wasn't in the mood to try answering. 

Getting caught running in the woods with her is only marginally better, but it's still better. The clearing is wide open, too big for Scott or Allison to make it to the treeline before Stiles and Julia are on them. It takes some creative footwork on Stiles' part to keep from sprawling all over Scott in fact.

For his part, Scott still ends up on his back in the leaves. He doesn't seem to notice since he's staring at Julia who's staring back with recognition in her eyes. "Scott, right?" Her eyes flick to Stiles. "Isn't he the little guy who used to follow you around?"

Stiles grins a little. "Scott's my best friend, yes."

"Same difference," Julia says, smiling easily. She has to know what Scott is. Stiles hasn't mentioned it, but he hopes that Derek did. Her finding out about the connection between Scott and Peter some other way doesn't seem all that wise to Stiles and he promises himself to ask Derek later. 

Right now, though, he needs to get them through the next two minutes without bloodshed. 

Allison's helping Scott up, looking at Julia with curious eyes, and God, Stiles hopes that she doesn't ask. Prays a little even.

It doesn't work. 

Julia asks instead. "And your friend, Scott?"

"Allison." With a smile, Allison elaborates. "Allison Argent."

The reaction is pretty much just what Stiles worried about. Julia looks gutted. Derek hadn't mentioned the part about Beacon Hills very own Romeo and Juliet. 

Understandable. Some days, he's not sure how to explain Allison and Scott either. 

Allison seems to pick up on the sudden influx of tension (Scott definitely does), but she soldiers on anyway asking, "And you are?"

Stiles knows it's not going to do any good, but he can't help jumping in with, "Oh, this is my mom's best friend Julia."

Julia finds her voice, though it's raspier than it was two seconds ago. "Julia Hale." 

It's Allison's turn. All the colour bleeds out of her face and her eyes go wide with horror. She doesn't look at Stiles, but he's willing to take a guess that she remembers their conversation. He wants to ask if she realizes that this is Mei's mother and Peter's wife. 

He wants to ask Allison how it feels to stand face to face with a survivor of Kate's attempted genocide.

He doesn't want to ask. 

Julia flicks a look at Stiles. "I assume that she's aware of the situation?"

There's no easy way to answer any of it. Stiles looks from Allison to Julia and nods. "Yeah, she was there when everything went down with Peter." Which is probably not the best way to phrase it, but yeah, he's got nothing better. Either way he goes at it, it fucking sucks. 

Allison squares her shoulders, determined, but when she opens her mouth, all she can get out is a strained, "I―" before giving up again. 

Stiles kind of pities her a little because, seriously, _awkward_. Dear Abby never wrote anything about what to do in moments like this.

'Dear Abby, my psycho dead aunt murdered an entire family...'

Be worth it just to see the look on the face of the poor bastard who read the thing. Stiles would grin at the thought, but he's just as frozen as Scott seems to be. He looks over to check on him and finds Scott watching Julia with the weirdest expression on his face. 

Stiles tries to catch his eye, but the BFF psychic network totally fails him and Scott keeps right on staring at Julia.

Whatever. He'll find out later.

He looks back at Allison and Julia. They're still looking at each other. The whole situation feels like it's a few handguns away from a John Woo movie and that's really not good. 

Stiles shuffles a little closer to Julia. The movement seems to snap Scott out of his whatever, but it's not much of an improvement. Instead of staring blankly at Julia, he's giving Stiles this _look_ and Stiles has absolutely no clue what it means.

They so need to work on their nonverbal communication. Like, seriously. 

Julia breaks the moment with a weary sigh. She settles on one of the rocks Allison and Scott had been leaning against and opens the water bottle she'd been carrying. A long swallow of water later, she looks up at them both and smiles faintly. "Awkward doesn't begin to describe this one, does it?"

Allison manages a little smile. "Not even close." 

Julia looks at her a moment longer, then nods, like she's found something she was looking for. Stiles drops down beside her and bogarts the water, downing half of it and ignoring the way she smirks at him. "Sit down. I'm unarmed and not in the habit of murdering teenagers at any rate."

Scott and Allison try to laugh, but Stiles doesn't. He stares at Julia and wonders what the cut off age is. How young is too young for the wardens to intervene. He knows that Allison's father's been training her, that Kate was pushing to get her involved even before that, and he really, really doesn't want to be thinking about this right now.

He doesn't want to think about it ever.

Allison settles beside him, Scott on her other side, and it's weird. All they need is a campfire, some marshmallows, and they can call it a night. 

"Mrs. Hale―"

"Julia's fine," Julia interrupts. "Mrs. Hale was an impressive lady and made from sterner stock than I'll ever be." She grins fondly as she says it, but she blinks a little too long to hold back tears. "And for the rest of it, you don't need to apologize. Even if it were on your shoulders to do so, there aren't really any words for this situation. You needn't bother trying." 

"Maybe not," Allison says, "but I should. _Someone_ should."

Julia laughs. It's not a happy sound. It's broken, weary, and Stiles doesn't want to feel it. It almost kills him to grieve one person, he can't handle anymore. He doesn't want to think about Mei and her siblings. Doesn't want to think about Derek's parents, grandparents, and the others. 

He doesn't want to feel the sorrow that is Julia and Derek's second skin, buried beneath the facades they put up.

He wants it all to have never fucking happened.

Julia lays a hand on the back of his neck, gentle, and he looks up at her. There are tears in her eyes.

"Someone should apologize," Stiles agrees, "but the people who should never will."

"Kate tried," Allison says, in a quiet mumble.

"Under threat of what?" Julia asks. She doesn't even seem to think there's any question of that. 

She's right.

"My life." 

Julia looks horrified. She closes her eyes and Scott looks as pained as she does. 

Stiles doesn't want to know what her heart sounds like right now. It's one of the powers he's never envied. There are some things that no one should know. The sound of a heart breaking is one of them. 

"I'm sorry," she says, meaning it. "The Peter I married was a strange man at times. Dangerous. Unpredictable. He was his own person, but he would have never, ever threatened a human like that." 

Allison looks away. Julia doesn't seem surprised.

"I know that's not what your family has told you," she says, continuing. "I wish I could convince you that they're lying, but I know how your family works, Allison. I've seen it. Indoctrination is one of their strong suits. It has to be. Most hunting families don't last as long in the business as the Argents have. Most either die or cross sides. "

A story Stiles definitely, _definitely_ wants to hear sometime. 

"It doesn't matter. You'll make your own decision in time. Don't go assuming the responsibility of others. Kate's gone and Gerard is only interested in finishing what she started."

Stiles shivers, despite the warmth of the sun overhead. It's not such a stretch to think that Gerard is here to finish off the others. He's all but declared war in person, but to hear Julia state it so blandly, without even an attempt to cover it in something else hits hard. 

Genocide.

Nausea twists at his stomach and he looks away. 

Scott wraps an arm around Allison. "She's not a part of that, Mrs. Hale."

"No, but she's been raised to be." Julia looks at him. "Enjoy what time you have together, kiddo. You can't walk on this line forever. Sooner or later one of you will have to cross it." Her eyes are on Allison when she says that. Stiles knows why. You can't unfry an egg. Scott's a werewolf. He'll always be a werewolf.

The only one capable of crossing any lines is Allison. 

"Gerard's philosophy is hardly new. In his eyes, the only good wolf is a dead one." 

"He wouldn't," Allison says, but she doesn't sound convinced. There's hesitation in her eyes and Scott just looks sick. 

It's the same expression he had on his face when he told Stiles about the omega in the woods.

Allison might not want to believe it, but Scott has no choice. 

"He's very good, I know. He has to be. He's not the matriarch of your family, but he's calling the shots as though he were and that takes charm. To persuade the family to go against the rules that have governed them for centuries?" Julia whistles softly. "Has to be good." 

"And you think, what? He's going to trick me into killing Scott?"

"No." Julia gets up. "He'll trick you into volunteering to do it yourself." She touches Stiles on the shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, kiddo, okay? We'll take a look at your mom's greenhouse. I'm not sure how much of my garden survived, but most of it came from cuttings of hers and you're more than welcome to them." 

He smiles. "Thanks Jules."

She nods and picks up into a jog again, clearing the clearing in a few seconds.

Stiles lets her go on. She needs her space right now and, frankly, he needs the moment.

"She's wrong, Stiles," Allison says, quietly. "He won't do that. I won't let him."

"Don't be so sure about that," Stiles says, just as quiet. "Kate didn't wake up one morning and decide to go kill an entire family. Someone helped her get that way and I don't think it was your Dad." 

Though he's not sure that Chris would have put up much of a fight.

Stiles gets up. "I'd better go find Derek. Julia's probably going to need family around tonight."

It's kind of a jackass thing to say, but yeah, he's not in the mood to care right now.

*

Derek isn't at the house when Stiles gets there. Neither is Julia. Stiles crosses his fingers and hopes. He has a feeling that they've already been talking to each other about this, but more definitely can't hurt. 

That thought in his head, he looks up at the ruined shell of a house. It's unrecognizable from the house he remembers. It's the first time he's really let himself realize that and it fucking _hurts_. 

He doesn't want to know what the rest of the house is life, but what he wants doesn't get a vote. He needs to know. Even if he weren't facing the choice he is, he needs to know. 

The boards creak underneath his sneakers when he walks up the steps and into the front hall. It's an ominous sound and he freezes, not sure if the floor's about to fall out from beneath his feet or not. He looks down and around him before he tries edging a few steps farther into the room. 

It's quieter here, more stable, and Stiles gets a chance to look around him. He regrets it immediately. The house smells old, rotten, from years of unimpeded rain working its way down into the walls. It should be overpowering, but he can still smell the fire beneath it all. 

It smells like death. 

He came here for Christmas once, delivering presents and cookies with his Mom, and they'd had a real tree in the front hall with pine garland wrapped around the bannister. The whole place had smelled like _Christmas_ and Stiles hadn't stopped talking about it for a week. 

It's gone. All gone. 

He looks in at the main living room, but doesn't linger. It's not one he remembers well. It was mainly kept for formal entertaining (pack stuff, probably) so he'd always gone right past it and back to the kitchen where Julia and Mom would talk over coffee and cookies. Big, gooey chocolate chip cookies that Stiles still dreamt about from time to time. Those cookies were the stuff of legend. 

Thinking about them helps get him around some of the worst of the destruction. The house has collapsed in on itself in a lot of places and the kitchen isn't easy to get there, but that doesn't stop him. Stiles slows down, takes it steady and careful, and tries to treat it like some kind of twisted training.

Worst part is, technically, that's exactly what this is. It's probably a good idea. By the time he reaches the kitchen, he's mostly prepared for what he finds.

Except he really, really isn't.

It's a ruined, burned out shell of a room. He stands in a doorway which is half-collapsed on itself, looking at the kitchen table. It was huge, built to feed a good chunk of the pack. There's not much left of it. 

His throat tight with pain, Stiles reaches out to touch the blackened edge of one corner. It crumbles beneath his hand.

He hears a noise behind him and he can guess who it is. "I spent a lot of time in this kitchen. Mom used to bring me with her when I was a kid. Julia made the best chocolate chip cookies―or at least she said she did, but she was always laughing when she said it so I dunno. Looking back, I think it might have been Derek's dad, actually. He was always trying something in here, but I never really saw him make them. I didn't know him well, I mostly hung out with Julia and her kids."

Stiles almost smiles. Almost. Smiling right now is something he doesn't have in him. Not when he closes his eyes and sees Derek's dad, singing to some song on the radio while he drizzled chocolate over a cake. 

"You would've loved Julia and Peter's kids," Stiles says. "The twins were my age, and they were always off on their own. They made a pact when we were eight. I was the witness. If they became alpha of their own pack they were going to share it with each other. We tried telling them that wasn't how it worked, but I don't think they cared. And then there was Giz. I didn't know what her name really was, she said it was worse than mine, but it didn't matter. Everyone called her Giz because of that Gremlins movie. She was completely obsessed with it. Kind of obvious why now, right?" 

He wants to laugh (because he's just getting that _now_ and Giz would laugh herself sick at him for being that dense) but he's kind of crying and he so doesn't even care right now. "They were great, seriously, but none of them could even hold a candle to Mei. Man, you would've loved Mei. She was the tiniest little badass I have ever met, but really shy. Never said more than two words a day around me. Julia said that was normal. It's hard for little kids growing up in a werewolf pack. They have this huge secret and they can't tell anyone because of the hunters, so it's just easier to keep to themselves. Julia was sure Mei would grow out of it after a few years in school, but she was six when she died, so she never really got the chance."

The anger starts growing when he remembers Derek's dad, wearing this big, frilly blue apron, pulling a sheet of cookies out of the stove. He'd taken a cookie in payment for keeping the big secret of the cookie's true baker. 

He realizes that he lied to Allison about not knowing and a sob catches in his throat, but he makes himself keep going through it. 

By the time he finishes talking, all he can see is Mei peering over the edge of the table, eyeing the big plate of cookies with wistful longing.

He'd grabbed her one. Their secret. Mei had actually said thanks, lisping over his name with an embarrassed little smile. 

Remembering the way she'd stumbled over his name, he's angry enough to face Allison. She looks stricken, but more than that, she looks _guilty_. He's not surprised. She's new to this, but she's spent a lifetime being conditioned for it. Most of it she probably never even knew was happening. He hates her parents for that. Hates all of them for that. 

He throws his hands out, waving at the ruin around them. "Tell me something, Allison," he says, taking a step toward her. Something crunches beneath his shoe, but he doesn't look down. He's afraid of what he might find. "Who was Kate protecting when she did this? Because I really want to know. I want to know how a little girl who couldn't say my name could have possibly been such a threat?" 

"Stiles, what Kate did―" Allison presses her lips together and shakes her head. Whatever she was going to say, she changes her mind. "I'm sorry. I am. I didn't―this place." She looks around. "Kate was wrong."

Part of Stiles feels guilty. A small part. The part that remembers Peter killed her aunt here. That the floor he'd picked his way across to get back here is stained with Kate's blood.

He wants to be sorry about that, and mostly he is, but he also knows that there was a death sentence on Kate's head. Every warden in the country was looking for her and for a reason. A good reason. 

_Mei_.

"Not just Kate. Your Dad's threatened Scott how many times now? He's actually _opened fire_ on Derek with no proof of anything. The code is a fucking joke. As long as they're a werewolf, they're fair game. God, how many lives did Kate save when she killed Mei and all those kids, huh? Hundreds? Thousands? I mean all you've gotta do is look at the Hales. They were leaving corpses all over the place. Riddled the fucking streets with them." His voice breaks and he turns away, moving until he's slumped against the ruined kitchen counter, his forehead pressing against his knee. "Do you know what happens when a family like yours breaks the rules?"

"No." Allison moves to sit across from him. "But I think you do."

They're sitting in soot and dirt and Stiles hates the world so much right now. He hates that there are people like Kate and Chris Argent in it. 

"Yeah, I do." Stiles looks at her. "You're not mad. You should be. Your aunt locked a bunch of innocent people in a house and burned it down around them. She murdered Derek's whole family, locked him up, tortured him, and she's probably done it to a lot of other people―and you're―" he waves a hand at her. "You're just sitting here."

"What am I supposed to do, Stiles?" Allison asks. She looks genuinely confused about it. 

Feel something. He doesn't say it, but he needs to. She doesn't know what's at stake. What might happen if she chooses the same path as her father. As Kate. 

"They murder people, Allison. People like Scott. Some day? Your Dad might _actually_ murder Scott." She flinches when he says that, breaking eye contact, and he is so fucking relieved to see it. "There are consequences to that kind of thing. It's not just werewolves and hunters, Allison. There are other people out there too and, trust me, they're watching everything you do." 

Allison's brow furrows. "If you're trying to tell me something, Stiles, you're going to need to be a little clearer about it." Which, yeah, he's totally picked up on the warden talent for weird, cryptic comments.

He sighs. "Sorry, I'm probably way too worked up to be having this conversation, but you're right. I do." Stiles puts his hands on his knees. "I need to ask you―how did you find out about the werewolves?"

"Uh, well, Kate told me." Allison looks down at her jeans, picking at them. "She had Derek."

"Chained up downstairs, I know," Stiles shrugs at her surprised look. "Peter. Derek was supposed to be bait to catch him."

"That's where you went?"

He nods. "Yes. It's a long story." And the kind of thing he really doesn't want to be thinking about right now. "But that's how you found out? She brought you down there and showed you?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Allison's voice goes quiet. "He was just―she had him chained. She was questioning him or something. I guess she was trying to figure out how to find Peter." 

"Probably," Stiles nods, "but how did you react? Your aunt had someone _chained up in a basement_ and she showed you. Did you freak out? Did you call the cops? Because I don't remember anything like that. I remember you showing up to school like nothing was wrong. You went shopping, you went to the dance, it was all normal."

"I didn't know what else to do," Allison says, but she looks uncertain. "Kate said just go back to being a normal teenager. I―I didn't know what else to do." 

Stiles gets that. He remembers that feeling with Scott. Finding out your best friend's a werewolf is the kind of reality-altering news that makes going to school on Monday morning a total exercise in surreal. Looking back, he guesses that his own upbringing is probably the reason he didn't lose it. Which is also the reason that Allison probably didn't, but it's different. He wasn't facing the kind of stakes that Allison is. 

Her life literally depends on her ability to completely, fucking lose it. 

And he can't even tell her.

Not in so many words, anyway.

"Don't. Listen. Kate listened. She did what they told her." Stiles looks around him, feeling bleak. "This is what happened." 

This is the Argent legacy. Blood, death, and pain. 

"You need to find out the truth about yourself," he says, looking her in the eye. She looks miserable, torn, and he can't imagine how it feels to be her and facing the questions she is. She's fighting a lifetime of indoctrination and doesn't even know it yet. "There are people out there who can help. You don't just have to take your family's word on it."

"They're my _family_ ," Allison says, but it's not a defense. She looks away. She's the picture of helplessness and, yeah, in this situation he gets that. You're supposed to be able to trust what your parents tell you. They're supposed to tell you the truth. They're not supposed to warp your moral center or twist your view of the world into something completely distorted. "They lied to me my entire life, Stiles."

And they're still lying now. 

Stiles reaches out. She takes his hands and squeezes tight. He squeezes back just as fiercely. 

Stiles doesn't know if Allison understands. Not yet. 

But she will. She has to. 

*

Stiles takes the book with him when he goes to see Alan. It's late, long past the time Alan should be at the clinic, but the lights are on. 

They're on and Alan is waiting in the doorway.

He doesn't even look surprised.

Dick.

"Come on in, Stiles," he says, stepping back to give him the room. Stiles gets a look at the room behind him. There are herbs, books, weapons, and Julia Hale cleaning a gun. Her hands don't even slow down in their swift, efficient movements as she looks up to watch him enter. "As you can see, we've got a lot of catching up to do." 

And with Gerard Argent in town, Stiles knows they don't have a lot of time to do it in.

No one asks him if he's sure. He doesn't need them to. 

He puts the book down on the table and looks from one to the other.

"Okay, now what?"

*

_I can't decide this for you, Stiles. In the end, this decision will be yours and yours alone, but I won't deny that I've tried to influence you. Some of us try to stay anonymous to the packs we protect. We tell ourselves that's the rule._

_I was never very good at arm's length. Better than Julia, yes, but not by much. I wanted you to know them as people as well as wolves. This won't be an easy decision for you, no more so than it was for me, but you needed to see them that way before you see them the way the hunters do._

_Whatever you choose, Stiles, know that I'm always going to be proud of you. Not just because I'm your mom (though that doesn't hurt) but because you have an incredible heart and whatever you decide, it will be the right choice._

_I love you, kiddo._


End file.
